Shadowland
by kamelion
Summary: When answering a friend's call for help, the Winchesters fight through cultural barriers and find themselves caught in a journey like none they've ever taken, to fight a creature unlike anything they'd ever seen. Please review! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The Muskogean people are factual. The Seminole, Creek, Choctaw, and Chickasaw are the most commonly known tribes of these people, but their branches go much, much deeper, and are much more complex. Tribes generally broke off from the "parent" tribe once the village reached around 600-800 people. There are more tribes, people and languages amongst the Muskogean than you can shake a stick at. Some languages and names merged, others were lost to history, and still others were bastardized into other cultures. That said, as far as the language goes, there is no real accuracy unless you grew up in the culture, and even then there is no way to tell exactly how many dialects were spoken in the earlier days of these people.

And again, concerning their lifestyles, many things varied from tribe to tribe while many things stayed the same. It is known that the European culture infiltrated these Indian communities from the 1700's on. It wasn't unusual to find Indians that spoke English, or Spanish, though this was more for purposes of trade than anything. And they did war with the Europeans as well as other Indian tribes (namely the Cherokee). It was a tense time of transition for all cultures, with each one wanting to maintain their integrity and way of live while at the same time having to come to terms with the "melting pot" that the nation was becoming.

This story was researched, but also takes artistic liberties. I in no way claim myself an expert, so if you should find an inconsistency, and you will, forgive me. I did try to be loyal to the people that are from "my neck of the woods". There is no easy way to catalog the immense Muskogean culture out of hundreds and hundreds of tribes, many from which only their name still exists.

Many, many thanks to LadyStarhawk for reading over this and putting up with me through our chats. Mistakes are mine. Reviews are loved, very much.

-Kam :)

***************

They pulled into the reservation around midnight. White moonlight shone over old rusted roofs that covered barely-there housing. Porch lights were on, but the light thrown on the ground was a sickly one, barely illuminating the barren land. Dean paused the Impala outside a large, dark building painted a park-green color, which probably served as the office, or something. The car rumbled loudly, and still he hesitated.

Sam stared at his brother. "Dude, what's your problem?" Enough was enough. Dean had been waspish most of the day, and Sam's butt was asleep. He wanted to get on the reservation, meet up with his friend Toby Redhand, and find a bed.

"Nothing! I just – I don't know." Dean's hands worked the steering wheel, his thumb rubbing over a worn groove. "Maybe I'm a little uncomfortable being around a medicine man, okay?"

"Why? You go around psychics all the time, this can't be that different."

"This _is _different." His eyes darted to Sam's. "Medicine men are holy, aren't they?"

"Well, I guess, but – oh." Only then did he realize the implication of what Dean had said. He crossed to the other side of the street when passing a church. He avoided tombstones with crosses on them. It was like he was scared of being struck down. He hadn't really thought about it until now. Did Dean carry guilt he didn't know about? It would explain the tension he'd carried all day.

Dean swung his head to look out his window, avoiding Sam's stare. "Hell, Sammy, I don't know. These guys can pull up some heavy mojo. Now if they've already got trouble, you really think they're gonna want me here?" His knuckles whitened.

Sam wasn't sure what to say. "Considering who lifted you out of hell, I think you're safe."

"It's more about the reason he got me out. I mean, what if. . ." Again, Dean glanced out of his window, and Sam sensed the walls coming up. "You know what? Forget it."

_Okay, sure, that's going to be easy_, Sam scoffed in his mind. He sure as hell wanted to ask, but didn't. Not like he wanted Dean involved in all _his_ crap. His brother coming back, while terrific (and terrifying), had thrown him hard for a loop. He was still adjusting to having him back; again adapting to the jibes, the animated looks and groans, and unfortunately the bad smells that followed his robust meals. That was coupled with the fact that in an eerie way, it was like he'd never been gone, and _that_ was layered with the realization that Sam could make it on his own. Without Dean.

But, four months without Dean had been pure hell. He wouldn't let himself think what Dean himself had gone through, or why he was released. He looked at his brother, seeing the tension set in the lines around his mouth, and wondered if Dean knew something that he wasn't telling. Keeping secrets. When did they start hiding from each other?

For now, Sam tried to ease back into a rhythm that should seem familiar, but in reality was more like a distant dream. Almost tangible in memory, but hard to grasp. "You'll be fine."

Dean glanced at him again, his sharp eyes darting back and forth from his brother to the road. Sam had noticed that too, how his brother's eyes seemed more expressive lately, almost glinting in the half-light. Touched by something unworldly. Or had he just never noticed before? "Oh, that's great," Dean snarked back. "Thanks for the pep talk there, sunshine. I feel so much better about things."

"I try. Look, we can't just sit out here all night." They needed to stop tip-toeing around each other. They needed a case. Something to pull them back together, resurrect the old Winchester team. Something structured and familiar to ground them. When Toby called, Sam had jumped on the opportunity. He pulled his jacket tight around him and folded his arms over his chest.

"You okay over there?" Dean's voice was calmer, concerned.

Sam's eyes suddenly stung. Embarrassing. But that was the thing he had missed most. His big brother taking care of him. Being concerned for him. Ruby sure as hell wasn't, and Bobby, well, Bobby cared, but it wasn't the same. There was just something in Dean's voice when he spoke. When his voice fell, and he let himself be compassionate. He was a very feeling person, and he'd be the first to admit it was usually when a hot woman was in the room. Sam knew better. He selfishly didn't answer, prompting Dean to ask, "Sammy?" just because he wanted to hear his name. And he wanted to hear it without the underlying tension or anger that had marked most of their trip.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay." He lifted his foot off the brake, and slowly turned the car towards the houses in the distance, bypassing the building by the gate.

Sam pointed. "There." Dean followed the line of his finger to a lone figure standing on a small porch, three buildings down. "I think that's him."

He shot Sam a glare. "You _think_?"

"Not like this place has great lighting, Dean. But I'm pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Really pretty sure?" Sam mocked.

Dean sighed and put the car into park. He hesitated. "They don't still carry bows and arrows, do they?"

"Why?"

"Just thinking maybe you should get out of the car before I do."

"Asshole." Sam grinned and opened the door. "I'm pretty sure they're past that point."

"Really pretty sure?" Dean mocked back.

******************

The figure moved as Dean climbed out of the Impala and came down the concrete stairs. His grin was easily seen. "Winchester! Long time, no see!"

"Hey, man!" Sam was beaming, making Dean pause. Well. Whatever had gone on between the two men, it must've been big. Sam jogged up to his friend and grabbed his hand like he'd known him for years, and Dean was certain that wasn't the case. Then they embraced and clapped each other on the backs. Dean shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and watched, warily.

"How've you been?" Toby asked happily, pushing Sam back at arm's length to look at him. He wasn't Sam's age, which surprised him. In fact, Dean was pretty certain the man was in his middle thirties.

"I'm good!" Sam grinned. "You?"

"You look good! And I can't complain, which is rare for me." Toby grinned and glanced over Sam's shoulder.

Sam looked back behind him. "Oh. This is my brother, Dean." He faced Dean, physically giving him permission to intrude on their reunion.

Nice to be remembered. Dean noticed the hesitation before Toby held out his hand. Terrific. "Dean Winchester," the man said, looking at Sam, and back. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Really?" Dean asked, reaching for Toby's hand. "And what reputation might that be?"

"Your - journey - is known to my grandfather."

The inflection of the word spoke volumes. He fought down an 'I told you so' as he looked at Sam. "And what journey might that be?"

Toby released his hand with an uncomfortable smile. Dean was surprised he didn't wipe his palm on his jeans. "You should come on in and meet Grampa. He stayed up in anticipation of your visit, but he's old and needs his rest."

"Stayed up?" Dean flicked a finger between his brother and himself. "Wait, you mean he knew we were coming tonight? Not tomorrow?" Strange. And not making him feel better about anything. Their arrival was originally slated for ten 'o clock the following morning, but they'd lucked up on a quick back road.

"He sees much." Toby said. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, about two towns back," Sam gestured with his shoulder like he could point to the restaurant. Dean had to question his brother's ease, because he felt tighter than a – never mind.

"Come on, then. No need to check in tonight, I'll take care of all that in the morning." Toby signaled that they should follow him.

Dean kept his hands in his pockets and followed them up the concrete stairs, into the small house. He paused outside the door, squared his shoulders, and walked in.

Toby's grandfather was sitting in a worn-out but comfortable looking recliner, smoking a pipe. The Andy Griffith Show was on the television. Beer cans sat on the table to the right side of him. Toby picked these up to take to the kitchen. "Grampa. They're here. Grampa!" He shifted the cans to one hand and turned down the volume on the television.

"I heard you the first time," the old man said slowly, and turned to the newcomers.

Dean had seen older Native American men. In person, on television, movies, pictures. But he'd never seen anything like this man, and it was all he could do not to take a step back when those coal black eyes glinted at him like polished metal.

His face wasn't just leathered, it was classically aged. Beautiful, maybe, and that was a word that hardly presented itself anywhere in Dean's vocabulary. But there was something - distinguished and otherworldly about his face. Wrinkles cut into his skin like crevasses on ancient ground. His hair was silver, and cascaded over his shoulders. His mouth opened and chomped down on the bit of his pipe. Dean couldn't be sure if the sharp incisors were real, or false. He wondered idly if the man was capable of shape shifting. He had wolf written all over him.

He gave his head a subtle shake. Too many late-night movies.

Gramps looked at Sam and Dean for a moment, before grunting and rising from his chair. It rocked back with a creak before settling. Worn wooden pipe in hand, he turned stiffly and faced them, then held out a hand. "Simon Redhand. Folks here just call me Grampa." He grunted again, making a sound like "mm-hm" as he breathed.

"Very nice to meet you," Sam said with even more sincerity than usual. Dean swallowed and took the hand once it was offered. The skin was as dry as corn husks, but warm, and as large as his brother's. His fingers disappeared in the grip. And did he imagine it, or was his arm tingling just a little?

"Sam, Dean." Toby said, pointing to each man respectively. "Think they busted their butts to get here tonight."

"Wasn't expecting you 'till morning." Grampa was giving Dean a piercing stare. He finally grunted and shuffled back in front of his recliner, then eased himself into it. "My show's on."

Toby grinned at them. "He knew you were coming tonight," he insisted. "He just likes to make people uncomfortable."

And he was damned good at it. "Oh hey, I understand," Dean said, loudly enough to be heard by the old man. "Certain perks come with age." The man grunted, sounding for a moment like he was agreeing, but said nothing.

Dean licked his lips, and grinned, feeling like he got one up on the old man. Though why he needed to feel that pleasure, he couldn't say.

Toby just sighed with a smile, and let his head fall back. "Look, let's get you two settled in, okay? The kids are all asleep. I'll bunk with Maya and you can have my room, if you two don't mind sharing a bed. My wife's with her sister tonight, but she'll be back at the crack of dawn."

"Sharing's fine," Sam said. "As long as Dean forgoes the hotdogs, we're okay."

"Hey!" Dean slapped out.

Sam ducked with a chuckle, and walked out to get their bags.

The room was a joke. Dean leaned in, and looked around. "This is a bed surrounded by four walls." It wasn't even that. It was a mattress on the floor, surrounded by four walls.

"Shh." Sam glanced back towards the den, where Toby and his Grandfather were sitting.

Dean winced and shouldered his way in. "Where do we put our bags?"

"Foot of the bed."

"Will they fit?"

"Barely, I think, yeah."

Dean sidled against the wall and wedged the bags between the mattress and the wall. He held out his hand for Sam's, and wedged it beside his. "Guess we'll get to know each other real good tonight. This seriously their room?"

"I think it used to be a closet. Guess all the kids kicked them out of their bedroom."

Dean surveyed the tiny space."You know what? This is sad. I'm by the door."

Sam shrugged, half-blocking the light that fed in through the open doorway. "Suits me. Don't want you stepping on me during your nightly excursions."

"Just for that? I'll find a way."

"You guys good?" Toby appeared, straining to see over Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah, sure. Great." Sam replied.

"Good. Come sit with us, have a beer. We have to get to bed soon, though, tomorrow's a busy day."

"Right – about that." Sam stopped Toby. "Is there anything we need to know before we talk to him?"

"He'll tell you everything. Later. Right now, he just wants to watch his show."

"And check us out," Dean muttered.

"Cause that's what you'd do, I bet." Toby vanished from beside Sam. The floor creaked as he walked away.

"Dude doesn't even have a dresser," Dean muttered. "I mean, just the bed?" He grabbed Sam's arm, prevent him from walking away. "How do you know this guy, anyway?"

"Toby? I met him shortly after you, uh. . ." Sam shrugged. His expression closed in.

Dean raised his chin. Finding someone to lean on? He wasn't sure how he felt about that. "Ah. Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just – when you first mentioned him, I thought he was one of your college buddies."

Sam's expression soured. "No. Lost touch with them, you know?"

Dean realized he was still holding Sam's arm. He let his hand drop. "Right. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's no big deal. Not like I could keep them at arm's length and expect them to run with it."

"No, I guess not." But something about that small confession hurt. Dean gestured towards the door, and they slowly filed out.

The den flickered with the light of the television. Dean sat on an old brown sofa and nursed his beer, but he didn't watch the show. Instead, he kept his attention on the old man. Grampa sipped at his can, his eyes glued to the set, but Dean had an eerie feeling that the man was looking right at him, even though that grey head never turned. The two sat in silence while Toby and Sam kept up a dialog, spoken softly so as not to interrupt the viewers.

He wondered exactly how Sam and Toby met. Theories were already playing in his head, the foremost being that he came here to see if there was a way to bring Dean back. The thought was unnerving, but it was the only one that made sense, considering what they obviously knew. The fact that Toby took Dean's resurrection with nothing more than a timid handshake just wasn't right. That wasn't normal. Meaning either he didn't know the whole story about Dean, or someone here had worked some major mojo in the past and he was used to it. But Sam had obviously not met Grampa, and Dean had his doubts about Toby's ability to do anything more than grin like a talk show host.

A movement caught his eye, and he saw a tiny girl peeking at him from around the corner of the hallway. Probably four years old, with shiny, mussed hair and big black eyes. She grinned, and he found himself grinning back.

"Maya. Back in bed." Grampa didn't look around, didn't blink, just spoke. Maya disappeared.

Major mojo. Had to be it.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for the reviews! *HUGS*

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Dean woke with the same little girl looking down at him, her bare feet just inches from his head. His head? He winced and lifted it, which sent the girl bouncing off the mattress and skittering down the hall. Not the most conventional way to wake up, but at least she didn't pinch his nose or something equally childish and humiliating. He blinked a few times, then rolled over, glancing at his still-sleeping brother's back. The grey shirt was pulled tight across his shoulders. His body was eased, his breathing calm. Dean reached out his hand and rested it lightly on Sam's back. Freakin' Sasquatch didn't even have the decency to snore, he was so asleep. Dean changed his mind about pinching him awake. He carefully sat up and slowly removed his covers.

The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. He hissed and pressed his weight down, willing his body heat to flush to his toes and reduce the chill, then stood awkwardly. He'd slept in his jeans, as had Sam. There wasn't enough room for the two of them to change comfortably, and the night had been cold. Dean winced and raised his right arm, popping his shoulder joint. A shower would probably be appreciated by the household. He opened the bedroom door and shuffled out, wondering what time it was.

What time it was, was too damned early. No wonder Sam was still asleep. Toby's room had no window, so Dean was surprised to see the vagueness of twilight. The sky overhead was a dark blue, lightening towards the horizon in a strip of light. He'd only been asleep maybe four hours, at most.

Damn.

The little girl was nowhere to be found. He scratched his stomach and the back of his neck, instinctively making for the kitchen. Going back to sleep wasn't an option. He didn't want to toss and turn and wake Sam. Turning on the tv probably wasn't the best plan. Same for the shower. Surely they were early risers, he could see a farm in the distance though the kitchen window. In front of it, dark spots of standing cattle. Rows of vegetation beyond that, backlit by the horizon. Someone had to be up to tend to it, but apparently no one in this household.

He walked outside, then sighed and sat on the stairs leading to the small front porch. A few moments later he was walking, then jogging, down the dirt road.

Shoes would have been a good idea. The road was soft-packed, which helped. Not to mention, he was out of shape. His Lazarus act had left everything intact, including his muscle tone, but he was really having to work to keep it up. His stamina was nil. Something about rising from the dead took it out of a guy. Sam didn't have this trouble when he came back, but he was only dead for, how long was it? Two days maybe? It was a thought that stopped him in his tracks. Was he seriously comparing their deaths and resurrections? He gave his head an incredulous shake and chuckled, then resumed his pace.

He tried not to think of the four-month old corpses he'd seen during his adult life. Tried not to think about the decomposition of his own body. Bizarre-ass, freaky lifestyle.

Snake in the road. His mind registered it's presence just before he ran over it, and he stopped quickly, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

The snake had left a trail as wide as its body in the loose dirt. The head rose. Beady eyes looked at him as it tasted the air. It was only a few feet away, and probably close to four feet long. He'd never seen the orange-red coloring before.

He didn't move. It was close enough to lash out at him, yet it just watched, with that damned tongue licking out like it wanted to sample his aura or something. No way. He suddenly had a very bad feeling, and braved tearing his eyes away from the snake to glance around, wondering if he really was being watched. At that moment, the sun chose to crack the horizon, and he raised a hand against the glare. His movement was sudden and without thought. He braced himself, expecting the snake to take offense and attack. But once his eyes adjusted, he found that the snake was gone.

His eyes drifted over the track it left behind. Tried to ignore the fact that there was no track continuing to the opposite side of the road. At the moment, a literal turn-about sounded like fair play.

He returned to a bustling household. Even on the road he could hear the sounds of pots and pans clanging, and smelled pork cooking. Small voices murmured and wailed.. Sam was sitting on the porch, waiting for him, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. His long hair was mussed, and he hadn't bothered to gel it back from his face. His tanned arm were crossed over his knees, his hands gripping his biceps tightly. His toes curled down over the edge of the step. So much for restful sleep, he looked tight as a bow-string. "Dude!" Sam stood, and walked quickly to Dean, each bare step kicking up dust that would have to be washed off. "Where were you?"

Dean pulled at the front of his shirt, fanning it against his chest, trying to get some air flowing. "Woke up early, couldn't get back to sleep. Damn, it's hot already."

"You should've told me." Sam insisted, but Dean shook his head stubbornly.

"You were out like Rip Van Winkle. No way. Sorry. Not that it seemed to do you much good, you look like crap."

"And you smell like it."

Sam looked more worried than he had a right to. Dean had to admit that were the situation reversed, he'd have the same reaction. He changed the topic. "That's not me. Do I smell bacon?"

"Yeah. Toby's wife's cooking a feast for us before we head out. I told her she didn't have to, but she gets this look in her eye when you try to say no. Toby says she scares the crap out of him."

"Is he a closet sadist? Why'd he marry her?"

"Taste the bacon."

Dean gave a small laugh and followed Sam inside. He was instantly attacked by tiny arms and rapid speech, making him more uncomfortable than that snake ever could. He tried not to trip as small fingers grabbed at his sweaty tee and pulled him to the kitchen, speaking in a cut-up language that he didn't understand.

Sam eased in by his shoulder, grinning at the sight of the small children climbing his brother. "Looks like it's your turn."

"No, wait, you don't wanna climb on me, I stink," Dean insisted as he dipped under the weight of a child tugging at him. "You mean you didn't scare 'em off? Where were all these things hiding?" There were so many. He bent and scooped up a young boy who grinned at him widely. His front teeth were missing. Dean pretended to be shocked by the sight, then set the boy back to the concrete floor. The boy smiled again as the children once again closed in.

Sam snorted. "These _things_ are Toby's and Summer Rain's kids." His face scrunched in concentration. "Maya, Pen, uh. . .John," a small smile, "Austin, and Suki."

"You and your freakin' photographic memory."

"Uh, yeah. That's visual, Dean. You'll notice I didn't point them out as I named them."

Dean smiled uncomfortably at the children as he untangled himself, and turned to the woman standing at the stove. "Summer Rain, right? That's a real nice name."

The lady turned to him, and Dean was startled to see blond hair wisping from beneath the red wrap that tried desperately to hold it back from her face. "Thanks. She's my favorite poet."

Dean turned to Sam for an explanation, but he just shrugged. His eyes were smiling, all the tension gone for the moment.

Grampa came stomping in, ubiquitous unlit pipe clasped firmly in his clawed hand. Even from a distance he smelled of soap and aftershave, which was more than Dean could say for himself. His long hair was pulled back with a single leather strip. He grunted a welcome to Sam and Dean, and was swarmed by his great-grandchildren, all bouncing on their toes with their arms stretched up to him. He scooped up the smallest child, the one who had climbed Dean, and sank into a chair at the table, settling the imp in his lap. The pipe was set aside. "So it's your turn, little one. Tell Papa your dream, and I'll tell you what it means." He spoke English, in a voice that was gravelly and authoritative, yet filled with affection.

The child was delighted at having been picked. The other children gathered close around his knees, waiting for the pending story.

The boy responded in spotty English. "I warrior. In the trees. Big snake."

"What did it say to you?"

"Say I'm brave boy. I say, 'I brave'." He held two fists together and swung down. "Killed it."

"I see. And then?"

His thin arms flung out. "Snake grew big! I biggest warrior!." He hit his chest with his fist, then frowned. "Tried to eat me."

One of the girls giggled.

Grampa looked at Sam and Dean. "I believe what the Master Snake says of you. You are a fine warrior with a fine heart. You will do good things in this lifetime." Though he spoke to the boy, his eyes were on Dean. "What color was the snake, young Austin?"

The small child gave the question serious thought. "Color – like sun. Before night."

Dean swallowed.

"You are correct. Now go wash up before breakfast. The bus will be here for school. Clean up, now!"

"They go to a pubic school?" Sam asked, as Dean frowned over the information he just heard, trying to decide just what the ill-feeling in the pit of his stomach was.

"No education here. They have to." Grampa leaned to one hip and pulled out a small metal canister. He tossed it onto the table and studied his pipe for a moment, then twisted open the top. Pinched tobacco. Filled the pipe.

Toby walked in. "Four chickens are gone," he said in disgust, removing his cap from his head and slamming it down onto the breakfast table. Summer Rain turned and picked it up, handed it back to him, and set a platter of biscuits in its place.

"Lemme guess," Dean said. "Snake?"

Toby frowned, repositioning the cap on his head. "No. Coyote."

Oh. Dean raised his chin and blinked, then backed out of the way.

Toby stood over his grandfather. "We need to repair that fence. Today."

"We have other things to do today."

"I think our food supply is more important than. . ."

"Which is why I rarely ask you to think in these matters." The old man's voice was calm, but his expression was sharp.

"Well, we can help, that way it wouldn't take much time," Sam offered.

"No. There is too much to do."

"Grampa. . ."

"I said no." The voice was like a gunshot. Coal-dark eyes scanned over everyone in the room.

Toby, breathing heavily, just pressed his lips tight together and nodded. He walked out of the kitchen, right as Summer Rain declared breakfast ready.

Dean started for the table, but was instantly surrounded by returning children, whooping and hollering and suddenly much louder than they had been a moment ago. He raised his arms and teetered as they crashed around him like a wave. He felt Sam grab his wrist, pulling him back against the wall as the children jumped into their chairs; their school clothes pressed, hair combed, small hands snatching at biscuits and whatever food was within reach. Little Maya stood in a chair by the counter and carefully poured each child a small glass of milk from a glass pitcher. Summer Rain was filling plates with fresh eggs and bacon.

She looked up. "Hungry?"

Dean glanced over the table, rocking with kicking feet and already covered with crumbs, then took in his and Sam's disheveled, unwashed appearance. "I think we'll eat on the porch," he replied.

She nodded and filled two more plates, quickly snatching up two biscuits from the table before they were consumed. "Coffee?"

"Please," Sam said, taking the plates that were stretched towards him over the heads of the children.

Dean walked to her to take the mugs, rather than reaching over the table for them, not wanting to risk scalding the dark heads. Actually, one child was blond, like her mother, but her eyes were dark. It was a striking combination. "Thanks. Wait, where's your plate?"

"I've eaten. I eat first if I want a chance to eat at all."

Dean smiled and followed his brother outside.

The sun was full in the sky, so bright that squinting did little to help. Dean shuffled in a circle on the porch, plate in one hand, coffee in the other, looking for a place to park himself. He chose a shadowed corner just in front of the porch swing, and set his coffee down. The wood at his back was cool, for now. Sam sat on the stairs, apparently not bothered by the sun. He sipped at his coffee and went to work on his eggs without a word. In the distance, the loud whirring of cicadas could be heard. Hell, everything even _sounded_ hot.

Dean stared at his plate. He wanted a shower. He felt too dusty to eat. But the aroma wafted to his nose, and his stomach growled.

They were damned right about the bacon.

***************

Sam scratched his head underneath the straw cowboy hat that Toby had plunked on him. "You'll need it," he had said before they left, and drove out about fifteen minutes out from the reservation to a field half covered with grass. The blue pickup, a stubborn, nineteen seventy-three Ford model with flaking blue paint that Dean was probably itching to get his mechanic's fingers on, came to a troubled stop. Dean and Sam jumped from the hot, metal bed, landed in a puff of dirt, and surveyed the nothingness of the land around them.

The driver's door opened with a squawk that made the Impala's door sound like a timid mouse. Grampa stepped down and slammed it shut. Toby exited from the other side.

Sam winced into the distance. "Toby, what's your grandfather got in mind?" he asked his friend quietly.

"He wouldn't tell me. My money's on him testing you two."

Dean turned. "Test us? What the hell for?"

"I don't know. Worthiness?"

Sam huffed. "Worthiness? For what?"

"Hey, he doesn't exactly tell me everything, you know? He just loves keeping an air of mystery around him. Wears it like a damn cloak."

"He's a shaman, though, right?" Sam asked. "I mean, a real one?"

"Because there's so many fake ones around here? Yeah, he's real. And don't call him a shaman. He takes offense."

"What do you call him, then?"

"Alektca."

Sam pronounced the word softly to himself and watched Dean wander out into the dead pasture.

His thumbs were tucked into his back pockets. The cowboy hat suited him. Sam found that he could easily picture his brother as a ranch hand, living under the stars. Somehow, he looked in his element out here. Of course, the thought of Dean on the back of a horse was laughable.

Grampa tugged a large bag from behind the passenger seat, muttering in his distinct language. Toby gave him a hand, and it jimmied free. Toby then reached in and grabbed another bag with provisions packed carefully inside. Grampa grunted as the weight of the bag pulled at his arm, but he waved away assistance. There was a single tree in the distance, and he made for it.

"Guess we follow?" Sam asked.

"You wanna stay here and hold up the truck?" Toby clapped Sam on the back. "Hey, Dean!"

"Yeah?" The voice sounded distant.

"Come on."

The tree provided no shade, only dark lines that cut the dry ground into a jigsaw puzzle. Grampa spread out a blanket and signaled for the men to sit. Sam leaned his weight to one hip, one leg stretched before him, bracing himself with his right arm. Dean was next to him, cross legged. Toby uncomfortably maneuvered himself into a similar position, and took what was handed to him.

Grampa pulled out a few more items and set them on the colorful blanket. There was sage, a rattle, and a tiny glass bowl with a pouch in it. He straightened his back, closed his eyes. A chant grew from the back of his throat, gravelly like his voice, but growing more clear and insistent. His lipless mouth raised to the heavens above him, and Sam found himself glancing up briefly, expecting something to be there. That was a bad thing to do, as the white sky shot at the backs of his eyeballs, and he lowered his head quickly, shaking it. He felt Dean's hand clasp his knee in question, but it was removed before he could focus on it. The heat, the brightness, the chant, everything was pressing in on him. He was feeling restless, and shifted carefully, trying not to disturb anyone. A glance at his brother showed him stationary, his eyes fixed on the sage in front of him. Toby was sitting as straight as his Grandfather, eyes closed, swaying faintly in time with the chant. Sam carefully pulled his legs in, straightened his spine, closed his eyes, and tried to feel the moment.

He relaxed.

There was the sound of a match striking, and a sweet, smoky scent filled his nostrils. The aroma grew in intensity, and he realized Grampa must be waving the sage wand around his head, then his body, purifying him in the Native American tradition. When the scent ebbed, he wanted to open his eyes and see if his brother was being put through the same, but the lingering smell showed that he was. That, and his eyes were cemented together, his body limp. He didn't want to move. He knew Dean was there, he could just feel their knees in contact. It was reassuring, because as calm as he felt, he suddenly wasn't sure what was going on. That thought hit his conscience like a spark, and he snapped back, hearing sharp noises that he'd previously drowned out, but he didn't open his eyes. He didn't want anyone to know. He wanted to lose himself again.

As if Grampa had heard his thought, the chant turned into a single note, sung out from the depths of his soul, possibly of the earth. The reverberation was felt in his chest, lifting him from his doubt and settling him back into the calm embrace of peacefulness.

Words came out of that note, and Sam wasn't disturbed by it. He let himself drift, until he was lost. Everything faded, and nothing mattered.

**************************

Sam came back with a gasp, his body jerking upright. He felt like a flame that had just been extinguished as his lungs filled with cool air. He blinked rapidly, coughing, suddenly frightened. He didn't know where he was. Everything was dark, he couldn't see! Was he blind? A hand on his shoulder made him jerk again, and Toby's voice filtered through his confusion. "Easy, friend. You did well."

"I – what? Wh – ?" He squinted at his flickering surroundings, heart still trying to escape his chest. "What happened?"

"Don't worry. You passed." Toby sat back on his heels.

"I – passed? Passed what?" He was confused. He couldn't remember anything. Was he drugged?

"You successfully made it back."

"Back? From where?" Focusing on Toby's face, finally. What about – "Where's Dean?"

"Still in. He should wake up soon."

"Still in what?"

"The Shadowland."

"Shadowland?" Sam asked dumbly. He glanced around the area as though to spot it. Above him, the stars watched. It was night? The whole day was gone?

Toby raised his canteen to Sam's lips. "He'll wake up soon. No, wait – drink easy." Sam swallowed hugely and gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What do you remember?"

Remember? He could hardly think. "Ahh." He winced against the pain in his head, and continued. "Nothing. Images maybe, like a dream." He tried again, but nothing came to him. "I can't piece it together. I just know that. . ." his head jerked to the side to find his brother, lying peacefully on his back, his hands folded on top of his chest. "Wait, he's still under? I mean, he's still there?"

"Yes."

Fear flooded him, fear that he couldn't explain. Sam quickly pushed to his knees and crawled to Dean, leaning over him, one hand reaching out. He wanted to touch him, but he didn't want to scare him awake. "We've gotta get him out," he said urgently. "Now."

"Why?"

"Because it — he's just," Sam gave his head a shake. "Dammit!" He couldn't remember. He didn't know. He just felt panic, and it was growing.

"Sam. . ."

"Please, just wake him up! I can't remember why, but I know he has to wake up!"

"He will! Look, feel here." Toby took Sam's hand and pressed it to the steady, beating pulse in his brother's neck. "See? He's fine. There's no distress."

But that didn't sound right. It didn't sound right at all. Yet Sam couldn't pinpoint the reason for his anxiety, he couldn't _remember_, dammit, and he was pissed. "I don't care. Wake him. Now."

"I cannot."

Sam fisted Toby's shirt. "Toby, listen to me. I know you helped me when he was gone. I'm not gonna lose him again. Wake him up!"

"You don't understand!" Toby jerked Sam's hand from him. "I can't! I'm not capable!"

"Then get your Grampa to!"

"No, Sam. No!" He grabbed Sam's hands right as they touched his brother. "Listen to me. Waking him is dangerous. He must wake on his own."

Suddenly Dean did waken, with a full intake of air followed by raking coughs.

Sam immediately pulled from Toby and shoved his brother over from his back to his side, bracing him. "Dean! Easy, man. Breathe."

Dean choked and curled into a ball, and managed to pull in a pained breath. He coughed again, then fought for air. "Ah – God! Sam?"

"You okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so." Sam leaned over his brother's side, trying to see the face that was pressing into the blanket. A few more coughs, and he turned onto his back, blinking up at Sam. "What was it?"

"I don't know. I don't remember much, do you?" _Only that you were dying_. That thought came unbidden, and it terrified him. He gripped his brother's arm more tightly.

Dean rolled his head on the ground. "No. It's fading." He coughed again, and Sam helped him sit up, taking the canteen that Toby passed to him. Like Sam, he tried to drink too fast, and like Toby, Sam made him slow down. "It was no Disney ride, I remember that," he gasped, as Sam took the canteen from him and passed back to Toby.

"I don't think it was meant to be. Hence the whole 'test' thing."

"Smart ass. Help me up." Dean pulled on Sam's shoulder. "I need to walk."

Sam rose with him. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Dean rolled his head and cracked his neck. "Pins and needles, dude. Come on." He kept a hand on Sam's arm. "Where's the old man?" Sam looked around, noticing for the first time that the old man was gone.

"He's spirit walking," Toby said, bending down to pick up the dirty blanket. He flapped it, knocking the dust free. "I was told to keep an eye on you two."

"He just went off and left us like this?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"You were in no danger."

"Well, it sure as hell felt like danger!" He paused, then looked at Sam. "Didn't it?" His voice was suddenly confused.

It was disconcerting, feeling like their lives had just been in danger, but not knowing what the hell was going on. Sam sent Toby a steely look. The fear still had hold of him, and that coupled with not knowing what the hell was going on had frayed his temper. "Look, Toby, here's the deal. We've played this game long enough. Now I'm willing to bet Dean's about ready to ride out of here, and I'm gonna beat him to the car, and screw your problem!"

"Sam!" Dean cautioned in surprise.

"Your car's back at the house." Toby calmly picked up his Grandfather's bag. "You coming?"

Sam bristled, but Dean squeezed his arm and gave his head a subtle shake. So he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. What the hell? He wasn't prone to outbursts like that. But he was on edge. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he didn't want Dean to let go of his arm. He suddenly needed that physical reassurance. But Dean did let him go, and all he could do was watch the spot between his shoulder blades as they followed Toby.

Grampa was sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Toby held up a hand, and they approached him carefully, quietly, each man taking a seat near him. There was a small fire lit, not enough to create a lot of heat, but enough to throw herbs on, and he did this rhythmically, not looking up, unaware of the arrivals. His body swayed back and forth as he sang and muttered under his breath. Sam and Dean sensed the unease in the other. Toby sat still, looking impatient but obviously willing to wait it out.

When Grampa did look up, it was with sightless, white eyes. Sam jumped, and saw Dean tense beside him. Both exchanged a glance of warning, each on guard. Too many times had they seen things like this, and it rarely boded well.

"The spirits of my brothers welcome you. You have shown yourselves worthy. Is the young one here?"

Toby's mouth quirked slightly. "Not so young, Great One."

"To me, all is young. You have done well."

"I thank you." Toby bowed. His demeanor had changed into something more serious, colored by surprise, and it kept Sam and Dean on their guard.

"I have been summoned against my will."

"I'm sure Eagle Eyes did not wish that," Toby said, slowly.

The spirit, Eagle Eyes, or Grampa? turned to him. "Simon has been good to me. I will forgive him his trespass." He turned to look at each man, and his eyes were anything but bird-like. "You know why you are here."

Toby looked at Sam and Dean. "Answer him," he urged.

Sam for one was completely reluctant, and he could see that same notion etched in Dean's uncertain expression. "Sam," he muttered, "you've got the silver tongue. Talk to it."

There was nothing sliver about Sam opening his mouth, and panicking when nothing came out. Toby gave him a nod of encouragement as the spirit demanded, "Well?"

"We – know nothing. Only that we wish to help," Sam managed to say, hoping he sounded more confident that he felt. This had a different feeling from any seance he'd been to, any possession he'd seen, any otherworldly presence he'd encountered. Way different, and almost awe-inspiring. It felt. . .old.

Grampa stared him down, his white eyes unseeing and unblinking. "You offer what you do not have, to help against an enemy you can not see. Interesting. And noble. Despite your failings. I accept you." The white brightened into a glow, then faded into black as Grampa's keen eyes peered at them, unconcerned by what had happened.

"You did good, boy," he said softly. "You did good."

**********************

Summer Rain lifted the whistling kettle from the eye of the stove and poured steaming water into four chipped mugs. She swirled a tea bag into each one, and lay the string over the side. The men sat around the table, silent. It was late. The children were again in bed, and this time Dean had made it a point to check out their sleeping arrangements, so as not to be surprised in the morning. Three were sprawlers. The twins were huddled against each other. It had filled Dean with a warmth and longing he couldn't explain. Or just tried to ignore.

He played with the tea bag, dipping it in and out of the darkening brew. Nothing had been said as they broke their meager camp and headed back to the truck. Toby and Grampa simply wedged the bags behind the seats and climbed in as Dean and Sam crawled into the back of the truck. The cold metal had been a contrast to the heat of that morning, making Dean shiver. He'd sat close to Sam, looking at the stars, and at the heavy stone moon on the horizon.

Now Sam sat opposite him, elbows on the table, thumb flicking at the handle of his mug. Still nothing was said.

Summer Rain wiped down the kitchen counter, scrubbing at a stubborn stain. The cloth squeaked annoyingly as she worked. She finally flicked the towel against the edge of the sink, and turned to the silent group. "The tea okay?"

Sam looked up. "Yeah! Yeah, it's great. Thank you." He gave a sheepish grin, and raised the mug to his lips.

She smirked. "Well, I know when a lady's not wanted. I've got council in the morning, anyway." She leaned over, and gave Toby a peck on the top of his head. "You'll have to see the kids to the school bus." She crossed behind Grampa, soothing the aged shoulder in her hand. "Is that okay, Grampa?"

"Kid's gotta learn somewhere," he said without looking at her. But he reached up and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"I'm off to bed then. Don't stay up too late, you'll miss breakfast. I can't hold the troops away like I did this morning for you men. They almost missed their bus."

"We'll be up, I promise." Toby caught her hand as she walked by, and gave the top a kiss. She smiled, and exited.

Dean watched her leave, impressed. "That's quite a woman you've got there."

Grampa answered for Toby. "She's not of the blood, but she's of the heart." He gave the first real smile Sam and Dean had seen since their arrival. "She's a good catch."

"He's got a crush," Toby muttered. "Dirty old man."

Grampa laughed.

Dean stared, then grinned in relief. So Grampa _was_ human. Sam eased into a grateful, loud laugh, which was instantly shushed by Toby, who pointed down the hall. He settled for chuckling into his mug, his eyes glinting over the rim.

Grampa's own eyes twinkled, and he tapped the bowl of his ever-present pipe into the green glass ash tray. "Oh, Great Spirit," he sighed. "The old bones ain't what they used to be. Pass me my pouch, son. Thank you. I know you boys have questions. That trial was necessary. I had to see if you were able to handle the situation, if you were able to learn, to adapt."

"I still don't remember anything," Sam said softly.

"And you won't. You're not meant to. But it told me what I needed to know."

"And that is?" Dean asked.

Grampa pinned him with a more serious look. "That your time in hell will have no bearing on this matter, for starters."

Dean promptly spilled his tea and jumped up, shoving his chair back with a loud scrape. Sam pressed his lips together and instantly went for a towel, passing it to his brother, who in turn quickly soaked up the liquid. He glanced up, chagrined. "Sorry."

"Doesn't bother me," Grampa said, lighting his pipe and puffing. "As long as you clean it up."

Dean did, wiping at the table, the floor, his jeans. He felt like a fool, but really. "How'd you know about that, anyway?" he asked, taking his seat again. "_I _can't even remember things about that."

The old man looked dubious. "You been on a hunt since you got back?"

He swallowed. "Not much."

"Then you understand why I had to make sure you were capable."

"You scared I'm gonna go all POW on you or something? Start seeing demons where none exist?"

"Are you?" Grampa asked.

"No," Dean said firmly, and saw Sam watching him with an expression of uncertainty. "No! Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not! I'm just. . ." Sam turned his head away, obviously reluctant to bring Toby and his Grandfather into such a personal situation, no matter what they knew about it. "Later, okay?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Dean sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. "So we passed your little test. Now what?"

"Now the real work begins." Grampa eased back, and tilted his chair to balance on the back two legs. "Our people are in danger."

Finally! Dean and Sam both leaned in. "What kind of danger?" Sam asked.

"I'm getting to that." The old man sighed heavily and took a metal tool, tapping at the tobacco in the pipe. "There is a legend amongst my people, and those of the Cherokee and Choctaw. I fear this legend is based in fact."

"Last week, we lost three women in our community. They vanished, wandered off, were carried off, I don't know. But each one was found dead. Their dried bones were recovered."

"Bones?" Sam said. "After a week?"

"Yes."

"Coyotes?" Dean asked, his deep voice softer than usual. "I mean I reckon they don't usually go after people but if they're hungry enough. . ."

"These bones were practically bleached. Whatever happened, happened quickly enough for the sun to have ample time to wash them out. A coyote would never eat that much that quickly, even in a pack. There would be sinew, something, left behind. These bones looked like they've been in the desert for months."

"And they were identified?"

"County coroner even had a specialist come in. It's them." He shook his head sorrowfully. "I knew them. One real well, she grew up here. The others were friends staying for a while. They didn't leave in a group. They vanished one by one, and their bones were found, one by one." He puffed heavily. "All in all, twelve women have gone missing from surrounding communities and reservations over the past two and half months. All have children. Four days ago a child wandered off, looking for her mother. She nearly died of dehydration before she was found and brought back. She couldn't even cry tears. She just yowled, like a puppy."

Dean looked at his fingers, laced together on the table. "That's terrible," he managed to say, quietly, and tried not to look down the hallway where the kid's bedrooms were.

"Is it only the women that go missing?" Sam asked.

"So far. There's terror in the community. We don't leave Summer Rain here alone. Yesterday Nana Grace was here with her, and neither were allowed to leave the house. The kids come straight off the bus, and to the house. Tomorrow she will be at council, where there are men to watch over her. They will _discuss _the situation." He sounded bitter. The chair set down with a thump and he leaned towards them. "The women usually work on the farms when the children are away. Already this situation is taking a toll. Some communities are so frightened that their crops are being affected. The men are scared to send the women to the fields, but most have outside jobs they can't quit. Around here, money is damned hard to come by."

It was a sorry situation. "The authorities have nothing to say?" Dean questioned.

Grampa waved the question to Toby. "They're looking for a killer," he replied. "They're leaning towards a mass-murder, some pissed off devil who has a grudge against us."

"They're calling it a hate crime?"

"Something like that. But the bones, they have no explanation for it. All the exams, the scans, whatever the hell it is they do, they're coming up empty-handed. They're clueless. And we're losing our women."

"So you think it's something supernatural," Dean said, lightly tapping his forefinger on the table top. "No offense, but if you're a Shaman with all these powers and such, can't you tell?"

"Alekcta", Sam corrected.

"Whatever." Dean's eyes were pinned to Grampa's.

He pulled the pipe from his mouth. "Boy, if I could stop it, don't you think I would?" He rose slowly. "My people are being slaughtered. Our women are dying. The heart of this community bleeds. Now don't you think if I could do something about this without bringing in the white man, I would? You've proven so helpful in the past." He chomped off the last word angrily. "It's taken a lot for me to get you here, so don't act like I haven't tried all I know!" He pounded his fist on the table, and Toby stood.

"Grampa, take it easy."

"No. I will not be accused of helplessness. I am not incapable, nor uncaring!" He shoved his chair back and walked out quickly, leaving an aura of anger in the air.

Toby glared at Dean. Dean, in turn, just lowered his head with a great sigh. "Okay, that's_ so_ not what I meant," he muttered, and rested his head on his crossed forearms.

"Look, it's not personal," Toby insisted. "We've been having trouble with the state authorities. Grampa feels the case isn't being given due consideration. The police are leaning towards hate-crimes, mass murders, gang violence. They're throwing out theories, nothing more."

"That many go missing and they're not saying anything concrete?" Dean demanded.

"They're doing something. Just not fast enough to satisfy Grampa. He's got other ideas."

"Dean," Sam urged, "you gotta talk to him. Apologize. Clear this up."

"I know." Muffled. Regretful.

"Now. Go after him. I don't think we've got much time here."

Dean raised his head to see Sam's anxiety clear on his face. "What are you talking about, Shirley?"

"Please. Just go talk to him. I think he went outside, I heard the door."

Dean pulled himself to lean back in his chair, and sighed again. "Fine. But don't be surprised if the vultures aren't picking at _my_ bones out there."

"Not funny, Dean."

"Not meant to be, Sam." He rose reluctantly. The thought of a one-on-one with the medicine man turned his stomach, even if he was obviously 'forgiven' his stint down under.

Grampa was outside, smoke curling from his pipe, eyes fixed to the moon overhead. Dean cleared his throat behind a fist and cautiously approached. "Can't believe how huge that thing looks out here," he said.

"Always looks bigger here," Grampa said.

"Yeah. Not much to block the view, I guess." Dean stepped carefully until he was at the old man's shoulder. "Look," he cleared his throat again nervously, "about what I said back there, I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't be questioning you like that."

"That was a perfectly reasonable, intelligent question. Just because I can't answer it doesn't mean you should apologize." His words came out slow, his tone hard.

"Still." Dean gave a nod and looked down. He scuffed his heel in the dirt. "But you have to know something more about what's going on. You know, if we're here."

He exhaled loudly through his nose. "I have a theory. I've told only Toby. He thought I was crazy, but he got you two to come, so I guess it has some credence."

Work mode was the best tactic to take. "So it's not natural, this thing that's happening. Is it demonic? Some sort of desert creature? I mean, I know we're not in the desert, but it sure feels like it."

"This land isn't as fertile as it used to be. Been tilled too much over the years, yet the government sees fit to keep us here. We get food vouchers which amount to nothing."

Dean felt uncomfortable discussing politics with the old man. He cleared his throat, again. Must be the air. "Look, if Sam and I are gonna help you, if we're gonna do this, you've gotta give us a little more to go on, you know? I don't like flying into things blind, and I sure as hell don't want Sam to."

"You mean like that little deal you made? That wasn't flying blind, boy?"

Dean tensed. "Like you, I had a theory." He stood in front of the shaman. "How the hell do you know about that, anyway?"

"I talked to the spirits."

Seriously? "Okay. I'm not sure I like every unearthly thing knowing my business. What'd they say?"

"Toby mentioned you two. I went to the spirit world and asked who you were."

Dean grinned, in spite of himself. "Why, you sly dog. You got our resume!"

"Yes."

"So, apparently you were impressed enough with it to get us down here."

"Who wouldn't be impressed by someone pulled from hell?"

"Then tested us to see if we were legit, or if we were some evil incarnate. I mean, you wanted to know if _I_ was."

"In a manner of speaking."

Dean studied him closely. "What the hell do you think we're fighting?" he asked quietly, almost scared of the answer.

Simon Redhand, _Grampa_, look at him solemnly. "You'll find out. Tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

They went to bed about two am.

Sam couldn't sleep. He tried, he really did, but the bed was suddenly the most uncomfortable thing ever, and his legs were restless. Sleeping in the Impala was an option, except for the chill in the air. He never understood how the temperature could be so high in the daytime, and cold at night. He could just see the shadowy figure of his brother laying on his side, facing him. No details, just the hump of a shoulder curved in. Sam wondered if he was cold, and seeking warmth. He reached out and touched Dean's arm.

Dean jerked. "F' the love of god, Sam," he drawled out sleepily, "wh' now?"

"Sorry." Sam pulled his hand back. "Thought you were asleep."

"Tryin'. Your damn twitchin' ain't helpin'." His speech was slurred with fatigue.

"Sorry," Sam once again offered. He paused. "You nervous?"

"M' sleepy. Shut up."

"You're not nervous about this?"

Dean sat up with a huff. "Dude," he said, much more awake now, "I don't even know what _this_ is, how the hell can I be nervous about it?" He jerked over to his side, facing away from his brother, and took the blanket with him.

Sam grabbed the blanket in his fist and yanked. Dean sat up, bare-chested. "Oh. I will _so_ do you an injury."

"Answer my question."

"Gimme the blanket."

"Answer my question!"

"Give me the blanket!"

"Answer my question!"

"I did already!" Dean yanked back, only to have the motion stopped by Sam's counter. "You're such a child! I'm cold, give it back!"

"You should've put on a shirt!" Sam hissed.

"I have one clean shirt left, you moron!" He jerked. "Now give it up!"

"No! I'm cold too, and I'm tired of you hogging it!"

Dean gave a hard yank, toppling Sam over onto his side. He shoved at Dean, pulled on the blanket, and the two of the scuffled fruitlessly until a banging on the wall stopped them.

"Do I have to separate you two? Damn it, it's hard enough for an old man to sleep around here!" Grampa was pissed. His demand was followed by a young voice calling for Daddy, raised in question.

The boys froze with Dean stuck in Sam's headlock, and Sam pinned underneath Dean's body. "Sorry," Dean croaked softly. They quickly - and quietly - untangled themselves. Now fully awake, the best thing to do seemed to be to just get up.

Quietly.

Damned quietly.

The night air was still. Dean led the way, heading down the road in the same direction he'd jogged the morning before. Sam walked right beside him, his bare feet shuffling alongside Dean's. Dean remained shirtless. They'd walked out in a hurry, in case Grampa carried a big stick with this temper. Sam had grabbed Dean's overshirt as they headed out, and he passed it to his brother without a word. Dean mumbled, "Thanks" and slid it over his arms, leaving it unbuttoned.

Sam grunted in response, then gave a snort of laughter.

Dean spared him a glance. Sam could see the corner of his mouth working. Then his shoulders hunched over and he sputtered, and it was all Sam needed to join him.

Their laughter was certainly heard back at the house.

They caught their breath and walked on, shaking their heads and chuckling. "Oh, that was classic," Dean said finally. "That was sweet. Poor 'ole Gramps."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And I had you, too."

Dean's brows raised. "Oh yeah? Care to test your mistaken theory, Sasquatch?" He stopped and bounced on his toes, loosening his arms, adrenaline obviously running.

"No, wait, not now, Dean. Dean, wait! Be still." Sam's hand was out, his eyes fixed to something on the road.

Dean followed his gaze, and froze. "I don't believe it. Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"I think it's okay, I don't think it'll. . ."

"It won't."

Sam shifted ever so slightly, his eyes glued to the snake. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I am. I've seen it before." Dean was watching it out of the corner of his eye, his body frozen. "But keep still."

"When did you see it?"

"Yesterday morning. Sammy, don't move!"

Sam's taller body was automatically given to motion. He tapped pencils, bounced his knee, flipped through pages as though he were ripping them. Telling him to stay still was like telling a waterfall it had to go against nature and flow up the mountain. He couldn't stay still on that mattress, and staying still was hard as hell now.

"Does it remind you of something?" Dean asked as it hissed at them.

"No."

"What about that story the kid told Grampa? About his dream?"

"Coincidence. He probably just saw this snake and dreamt about it. Bet they're common around here."

"I don't know. Yesterday it was watching me."

"Dean, I . . ."

"Dammit, I said don't move!"

Sam swallowed. "I think it just _looked _like it was watching you." He wasn't going to admit that it kept swinging its head towards his brother.

"Yeah, well, maybe." Again, the sun burst over the horizon, causing the brothers to throw their hands over their faces. And again, the snake disappeared in the light.

Dean turned and looked pointedly at his brother. "Care to explain that at all?"

Sam just stared. "No. Not really."

"Thought not. We should get back. I bet Summer Rain is getting up, and you know what she said yesterday about breakfast."

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. But his stomach was suddenly knotted with anxiety, and breakfast was the last thing he wanted.

**********************

This time they drove out much, much farther. The kids were safe at the neighbors house, where they were to spend the night. Summer Rain had caught her bus, and the men were left to their own devices.

It seemed someone took every boulder known to man and dumped it on the road. Dean oofed and grunted as he bounced in the bed of the pickup, and Sam didn't seem to be having a better time. "Dude. Get off the freakin' tire well and get in the truck. We're not coming back for your stupid ass. You fall out, you're coyote food."

"I'm fin-fine, Dean." But the last bounce jarred him, and Sam half-fell to the bed of the truck. Dean took his arm and pulled him back against the cab.

"This -mmph- this better be worth it." Dean groused.

"They'll think so. I'm sure we'll be thanked." Sam flailed as they hit a large bump, sending his head pounding back against the glass. "Fuck!"

Dean grabbed his shoulder, hearing Toby's faint "You okay back there?" through the window.

"Yeah, peachy!" Dean shouted back angrily, but he noticed the truck slowed. He released his grip on Sam as his brother rubbed the back of his head. "Freakin' snake."

"What?"

"This is all that snake's fault. I know it is."

"Dean, sometimes a snake's just a snake."

"Don't go all Freud on me. You saw it vanish. And you didn't care to explain it, now did you?"

"Trick of the light."

"Yeah, I thought so too. The _first_ time it happened."

"So, it's residual energy."

Dean gave Sam an incredulous look. "You're saying a snake is pulling a Woman in White and haunting the road where it was killed? Maybe looking for it's baby snakes down by the river?"

"Fine. A mirage, then."

"In the dirt?"

"I don't know, Dean, okay?"

"Then stop pretending like you do. Son of a bitch, are we freakin' _there _yet?"

They bumped onto a paved road, traveled ten minutes in smooth, peaceful, ass-pacifying bliss, then turned onto another dirt road, but a much smoother one. Twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of a small hut.

The driver and his passenger climbed out. Sam stood awkwardly, but Dean just shifted and leaned to look around the cab of the truck. "What's this?"

"Sweat lodge," Toby said.

Dean blinked and vaulted himself over the edge. "Whoa. Are you serious? You think this heat isn't enough?"

"You're right. We won't be in long. Too dangerous."

"Yeah, you think?" The heat was making him crabby. Had the heat always made him this tense? He couldn't remember.

Toby ignored the retort. "The fire shouldn't take long to start back up, it was in use a short time ago. Take off your shirts and pants. Underwear. Put this on." He reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out two pairs of black shorts.

Dean looked at the clothing in disgust, and waved it up at Sam. "Oh. Well. This shouldn't make me feel uncomfortable at all."

"Just do it, Dean," Sam said as Toby walked away. He jerked the laces from his boots. "At least there's no one out here to see us change."

"Don't put your insecurities on me. I guess they're changing in there?"

"I just hope they're wearing shorts."

Dean sputtered at the image of the old man not wearing shorts. "Sam! Warn a guy!"

"Suck it up. Get your clothes off."

"You and your fucking indecent proposals." But he unlaced and removed his boots quickly, and pulled down his jeans. Socks followed (which admittedly felt good), then his shirt. He glanced around, and quickly yanked off his underwear, replacing it with the shorts. "Man, I hope these aren't used."

"Dean! Come on, dude!"

"Yeah." He straightened, and swayed. Felt Sam steady him.

"You okay?"

"Head rush. I'm fine, Sam."

"It's the heat."

"What's with everyone's gift of stating the obvious, lately? You ready?" He glanced at his brother. His mouth twitched. "You do the whole basketball length better than those micro-minis."

"Since when did you become a fashion guru?"

"Just sayin'."

"At least I don't walk like I've got a rash!" Sam called over his shoulder.

"Stork-ass-freak!" He walked into the lodge behind Sam. "Holy – SHIT!" He quickly backed out.

"It's not ready," an old voice called from within.

"Not ready? You waiting for the boiling point?" Dean yelled back. "Christ!"

Sam walked out, coughing. "I can't believe we have to go in there."

"I can't believe I've been in worse." Dean stuck his head in once more. "How long then?"

"You can come on in. Wouldn't hurt to get acclimated." Toby's voice overrode his grandfather's comment.

Dean walked in, waving at the heat, pushing a path through to his seat on the bench. "I've been in saunas before, but man. This is off the hook."

Toby looked around, his lower body wrapped in a white towel. "It's warm. Been warmer. Told Gramps that you weren't used to a sweat lodge like we are, and to back off the steam." Grampa grunted an affirmative and walked out, bending through the doorway.

"And he did?"

"Hell, no. I believe his current new phrase is 'honky-pansy'."

"Good ole Grampa. Out to kill the people trying to save his ass. Typical" Dean was already wiping his face. He winced and sat on the wooden bench, hoping to god it had been sanded recently. He shifted cautiously to make sure, and eyed Sam, who was already flushing. "You okay there, Sammy?"

"You're not gonna make this into a contest of who can stay the longest without puking, are you?" he asked with a heavy swallow.

Dean smiled sympathetically. "Wouldn't dream of it." Not this time, anyway.

"Good. Cause I think I might."

"Close your eyes. Breath deeply," Toby instructed. "This is merely a purification rite."

"Where'd Grampa go?" Sam asked, eyes closed, sweat running in small streams down his face.

"Making preparations for your journey."

"You're sounding more and more like you know what's going on," Dean said, almost accusingly.

"He's filled me in. And to be honest, I think he's nuts, but we'll see."

"That's supposed to make me feel better about things?"

"Close your eyes, and your mouth."

Dean did as he was told.

***********************

They staggered out fifteen minutes later, fifteen minutes that seemed like an eternity. "Never thought this air could feel so good," Sam said lazily.

"Mmm," was all Dean could manage. He sluggishly raised his hand to wipe at his face, an action performed more times in the past few minutes than in his entire life. He flicked away the sweat as he felt his body being steered to an area behind the hut.

"Quickly, before the effect wears off," Toby said, grabbing Sam by the arm. "The transition will be easier."

"Transition to what?" Dean asked groggily, and not a little annoyed.

"You'll see."

"Okay, wait a damn minute." Dean jerked away. "I want answers. I want to know what's going on. I want to know what that smoke is and why everything is spinning."

Sam had already fallen to his knees, and was raised with the help of Grampa. He and Dean were lead to tent and shoved inside the flap. Layers of blankets covered the ground. It felt nice, and the brothers let themselves collapse onto it.

Toby came behind them and carefully arranged their bodies so that they were on their backs. In a nearly drugged state, Dean could only blink at him. The air filled with a sweet scent, pulling him under. "Dean?" he heard Sam ask.

"'M here. N't goin' nowh're." He reached out and managed to set his hand on top of Sam's. "Whuss hapnin," he tried to ask.

"Relax," Toby soothed. "We'll watch over you."

He couldn't feel anything. His eyes were heavy, his breathing slowing. "Whss Smmm?"

Grampa leaned over him. "He is beside you. You're going together. Be at peace. Take care of yourselves, of your bodies. What happens to you there, can happen here. Remember that."

"Wh're goin'?" Dean managed to ask, his brows drawing together, his anxiety growing.

"A hunting ground, called the Shadowlands."

Dean opened his mouth. "Huh. hunting. . ."

Then everything was gone.

******************************

The trees were whispering to him. They surrounded him, lush and full, laughing down from their great height. The sound grew as a wave of air crashed against the leaves, then settled. He felt calm, cool, sleepy. Prickly. Must be the grass. It was poking at his cheek, but he couldn't make himself sit up, couldn't even open his leaden eyes. Didn't want to, not with the trees laughing down at him, with the wind caressing the bare skin on his back, his legs, his ass.

His ass?

Dean's eyes twitched, suddenly aware that something was very wrong with that sensation. His body was lead. He tried raising a finger but couldn't be certain it was there. He realized his mouth was dry, painfully so, and his throat stuck together like a joining of both sides of the Sahara. His comfort ebbed into confusion, then panic. He couldn't move. The trees were laughing at his bare ass, and he couldn't move to cover it.

It took a monumental effort, but he managed to open his eyes. Blink. See a sideways face peering down at him, obsidian eyes in an amber face, longer hair flopping to the side. A face that reminded him of something, of waking with another face looking down at him, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't remember anything. He blinked again, more easily, squinting upwards, trying to push himself up on his hands, but his body gave out and he fell back onto his chest. He realized the sound he was hearing wasn't that of the trees, but of childish giggling. He tried again, to rise, this time quickly to outwit his sluggishness, and heard them scatter in fright, crashing through the brush. He blinked again, and managed this time to keep his eyes open.

Everything was green.

_Everything_ was green. There was an odd, big-leaf plant right in front of his nose, almost touching it, and he could smell the greenness of it as though he had broken the leaf and sniffed the chlorophyll. Multi-shades of green, from the deepest, almost-black to the most vivid neon that bordered on yellow. Dark trunks of trees sliced through the growth in straight lines. He felt mulch underneath his body, and it stuck to him as he managed to push himself back on his heels, slightly slumped, his hands still braced on the ground. His head fought to clear itself. He was breathing easily, which was a good sign. Memory tugged at him, of a tent, and a body beside his own. Blinking more rapidly, he tried to grab the memory and force the recall, but his brain felt numb. Instead he pushed himself to stand on bare feet, shakily, feeling a small rock puncture his arch. He cursed and raised his foot, pulling the tiny stone from his sole, seeing a dot of blood well up before he lost his balance and stumbled to the side. If this was a dream, it was a damned realistic one.

He braced his hand against a tree while looking around. Didn't recognize a damn thing. Took several steps back. Heard the babble of a creek behind him. Water?

Oh, thank god.

Nothing meant anything, only refreshing wet. He craved that sound, and what it meant more than anything in his entire life. He crashed through the brush, ignoring the slices and stings as twigs from bushes slapped at his skin. He tore apart the natural obstacles, ripping his own path through to the creek that curved just below him. He slumped on the shallow bank, then fell to his chest, cupped his hands, and drank as much of the clear water as he possibly could, as quickly as he could. As it coursed through his system, his mind cleared. He drank and drank until he could hold no more, until his arms were burning from the repetitive motion of scooping up the liquid. He lay there on his stomach, arms limp over the side of the bank. Wondered what Sam was doing.

Sam?

Sam.

Oh _shit_!

He twisted and launched himself back over the path he had created, cursing himself. Where was his brother? Where the hell was Sam? He choked on the name, coughed, and tried again. "Sam? Sammy?" His voice sounded foreign to him, rough and unnatural. He found his way back to where he had been laying, and stopped, bent over, hands on his knees, cursing the fact that he had to catch his breath in the first place. Frantic eyes scoured the area, and finally landed on a still form, upturned, half hidden by the large-leaf plant he'd noticed earlier.

He was beside his brother in three rapid strides. Put a hand on his chest. Heart beat strong. Good. He patted Sam's cheek. "Sam, wake up. Something's wrong. Come on. Dammit, wake up!" He gave Sam a good hard slap and jumped back as Sam gasped, his eyes flying open, his body jolting upwards, nearly colliding with Dean's head.

"Whoa! Easy, easy!" Dean grabbed his arms and steadied him, making sure Sam knew who he was before he let go. "It's okay. You with me?"

"Ah, god. Yeah." Sam winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The hell you hit me for?"

"I was waking you up, asshole. I've said before that you sleep like the dead. No, don't get up, not yet. Sit still a moment, huh? Sam!" Dean had no choice but to follow Sam to his feet as he took in their surroundings, in shock.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You know, I don't think we're in . . ."

Sam just raised a finger. "Don't say it," he croaked, then wavered, and caught himself.

Dean quickly braced him. "Told you not to get up so fast."

"What happened?"

"I don't know." He glanced down. "But I'm about ready to grab some fig leaves."

Sam frowned, then looked down. "Oh. OH." His head jerked up. He wavered again.

"There's a creek near here, let's get you hydrated."

"Yeah. Sounds good." Sam voice fell weak, and Dean steered his brother back down the makeshift path.

Dean sat and waited as Sam made his own attempt to drink the earth dry. When he finally sat back on his heels, Dean snorted. "Dude. Shift or something, huh? That's a view I never want to see again."

"You move, then," Sam muttered, and fell to his rear, pulling his long legs in front of him.

Dean let his head fall gently back against the tree, half concealed by the leaves of a large bush that grew beside it. He glanced off into the distance, and froze. "Sam?"

"What?"

Dean didn't budge. "We're being watched. Stand real slow, and walk over toward me."

Sam did as he was asked. "Who is it?"

"Some men that look real pissed. Stand in front of me." Dean muttered, and rose slowly under the cover of his brother's body. "Okay, you ready?"

"I guess."

"Get behind me when I say. Go!" And he shoved at his brother as the men in the forest gave a loud whoop, and crashed after them.

They ran as fast as they could, which wasn't great, considering they were bare everywhere. Branches, twigs, vines, everything tried to rip them apart, stab into them, block their path, decapitate them. Dean was better at dodging, but he couldn't keep up with Sam's long legs on this terrain. He felt himself sagging, falling back, and blamed his conditioning. Well, back from the dead and all. . .a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He cried out in surprise and found himself face-down in the dirt. With no clothing to protect him, it hurt like a mother. Forest debris cut into his chest and stomach, and a few other places. A foot planted itself onto his back, keeping him down. Something sharp stung his shoulder blade.

"Dean!" He heard Sam's yell, and knew telling his brother to keep running was useless, especially after seeing scads of bare feet running past him across the ground with little care. Moments later, Sam was marched back, two men holding his arms roughly. His chin was raised, his nostrils flared, and he looked at Dean's predicament in obvious anger.

But he was alive. They both were. So far.

"Okay," Dean practically croaked, raising his hands inches off the ground, trying to raise his head so he could crank his body around and look at the man holding him, "Look, we don't know how we got here, or even where we are, but we're not here to hurt you. Okay? See? Empty hands. No weapons. No clothes either, but looks like you guys are okay with that. I'll try not to read too much into it."

His babble ended when the foot pressed even harder into his back as his captor leaned his weight in. He could feel the toes curling into his flesh, felt the hard prick of broken skin underneath the weapon. He let his hands and head rest on the ground. Managed to cast his eyes to where Sam was, making sure his stupid little speech hadn't fucked things up and put his brother in danger. Oh, and the breathing thing? Better when there wasn't two hundred pounds standing on him.

"Please, listen to me," Sam was saying. "I know you probably can't understand us, but we're here because of a - someone named Eagle Eyes. Do you know him?" The men glared at him. "Simon Redhand?" he tried again. Nothing. "Then I don't guess you know how we got here."

Dean could see that he was trying not to lose it. The situation was weird, granted, but obviously they couldn't think if they lost their heads. More than obvious. "Easy, Sammy," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. The man over him pressed harder, if that was possible, and he grunted. Couldn't help it. Much more and his lungs would be pancakes.

"Just, let him up, okay?"

There was a heavy pause. The pressure increased again, until Dean thought the man would step through his ribs. He held his breath in a grimace, trying not to make a sound, but it didn't work. It hurt too much. He yelled out.

Lightning split the heated air in half. It forked towards a nearby tree, scarring it, shooting limbs from the trunk like shrapnel. One man cried out in pain as thunder immediately ate any further sound.

Dean was aware of the pressure suddenly vanishing, of being pulled to his feet, of terrified men backing away from them as another bolt brightened the sky. The thunder knocked their feet from under them.

His lungs filled with air. His whole body inflated with the sensation, making his head dance. Sam was right behind him, pulling at him, trying to run. Dean fought his vertigo and took advantage of the moment to grab two bags that had fallen nearby, then scrambled to his feet, shoving his brother ahead of him. They tore off into the woods, knowing full well that was not where they wanted to be in a storm, but what other choice was there? Dean kept pushing Sam along, yelling at him to get a move on while trying to save his breath. They started uphill, and found large boulders sunk into the ground. "Climb!"

Sam did, without a word. Dean slung the packs over his shoulder and followed as the rain dumped on them in a monsoon. The moss-covered rocks grew slick. Sam hissed as his bare foot slipped, his knees slamming onto a jutted edge, his hand landing in a small pool of rainwater. Dean braced his back and pushed, giving Sam the leverage needed to move. A moment later, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and pointed to where two rocks created a natural lean-to leading to a shallow cave. They dove under cover.

Dean collapsed against the far end, his head thrown back, gasping. He looked down his nose at his brother, who had curled in on himself, holding his knee in pain. "Sam?" Dean crawled over ad pried away his fingers. "Lemme see."

"S'okay, just hurts like a bitch," Sam gritted.

"Funnybone's got nothing on a kneecap, huh? Let me look at it." Sam angled himself from his half-laying position and dug his heel into the earth, knee bent. His face was drawn with pain. His knee was a bloodied mess underneath a large, loose flap of skin.

"Crap," Dean hissed. "Sure you didn't leave the bone behind down there?"

"Think I tried to," Sam panted, wincing. He pushed more upright.

Dean glanced around. His eyes fell on the two bags he'd snatched as they made their escape. He pulled on closer to him. A little dried food, and a skin of water. He quickly checked the contents of the other, larger bag and found a small blanket and a shirt. Not enough to fill the bag. Must've dumped some contents from it while they ran. "Here." Dean grabbed the shirt and tore it into thing strips. "Not the best thing, but better than nothing." He poured a little of the water onto one of the strips and pressed it to Sam's knee, holding his brother's arm as he jerked and hissed. "Oh, come on, Francis. You got worse than this when you fell off your bike."

"That's cause you pushed me down the road, you idiot," Sam said, his teeth clenched.

"Well, how else were you gonna learn?"

"I almost got hit by a car!"

"And you learned to swerve, didn't you? Too bad you didn't remember where the brakes were."

"Ah! Dammit, Dean, take it easy!"

"Gotta clean it out."

"You're tearing it off! Christ!" Sam's head rolled back, his eyes wide.

It _was_ pretty bad. Like ripped up, needed-to-be-sewn-back-down bad. "Pussy."

"Masochist!"

"Pulling out the big words, huh? Must really be hurting."

"Mm, God, shut the hell up." Sam fisted the dirt.

Dean wrapped the wound tightly, and gave Sam some water to drink. He pulled out the blanket, flapped it open, and spread it for the two of them to sit on. Shivered in the edge of the breeze as the air cooled in the rain. He sat shoulder to shoulder with Sam, feeling the same shiver go through him, and gazed out at the unfamiliar terrain. "Where the hell are we?" he muttered.

Sam was breathing heavily. "I don't know. What do you remember?"

"I – I don't know, there was this tent, and some smoke." He clenched his fists by his side. Dammit, none of this made sense.

"And Grampa."

Dean's head jerked towards his brother as the memory fully surfaced. "Gramps. That old bastard! He pulled his mojo on us, didn't he? Went all Shaman on our asses and dumped us here."

"I don't think he could have dumped us in a place like this."

"Yeah, well, I don't remember pulling out a flip phone and telling Scotty to beam me somewhere. This isn't the tent."

"I know."

"It's not the tent, Sam!"

"I know that!"

Dean pressed his lips together.

"Look, we'll figure this out," Sam soothed. "It's gotta be a part of the job. Let's just – I don't know." He looked down. "Let's get some clothes first, okay?"

"He sent us all the way out here, could've had the decency to send a pair of boxers with us at least. Those black ones. Can't believe I'd be glad to see those things."

"I know."

"That all you can say?"

"You want me to quote Ghost Busters at you?"

"What? You 'terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought'?" Dean glanced at Sam, then really looked at him. Of course Sam was scared. He was in this too, up to his neck.

Dean didn't know what to do. He stifled his own fear and patted Sam on his good knee. His brother gave a nod, his eyes cast downwards.

Together, they waited out the storm.

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

The Mvskoke people were everywhere. They had many families. They traded, they battled, they kept an eye on their neighbors, namely the Cherokee. They broke into tribes, which in turn broke into more tribes. They covered the land like newly laid grass, streaming out in all directions, claiming their territory. They were powerful. They were special.

They hated storms.

Chief Alush peeked outside his hut, wincing against the sudden rain. Such swiftness was not a good omen. The spirits were offended. He wondered briefly if the water would rise in the low lands, if the corn fields would flood. The stalks were already wilting in the heat. Rain would be good for them, but if it beat down the stalks the corn would need to be gathered out of the mud, and quickly. He tried to remember how many men were sent away on the hunting party, how many remained available to pick the corn.

The wind turned and drove rain into his hut. He lowered the flap, then set about making a small fire in the back corner, which served as a brazier. Heated some water, tossed in some herbs and leaves. Waited for the tea to boil before removing it from the flame. He poured a small amount on the ground just outside his doorway as an offering of penance for having somehow offended the gods. The rain subsided, just a little.

He sat crossed legged, and finished off the rest.

After an hour the rain eased into a thin drizzle. The heat started to build again, making the air thick around him as he walked out, surveying his village for damage from the storm. His brothers were out, running hands over the sides of their huts, shielding their eyes to look up at the thatched roofs, or walking to the farmyard to check on the few cattle they had acquired. Some wore breeches and boots, bare-chested. Others wore very little against the heat. The women emerged, clothed in dresses, some aproned, some not. All made sure everything was intact, and pointed and chattered about the things that weren't.

Chief Alush pointed to a young boy, Nameesh, and ordered him to check on the corn. The lad ran off, his loincloth flapping around thin hips. Alush stood outside his hut, arms folded, and watched his people recover. If his help was needed, they would let him know.

He was fairly young himself for a tribal chief. Their tribe was a fairly new one, having branched from his father's and Alush had been proven a competent negotiator, which vaulted him to his position as the leader of this tribe rather than helping to oversee the people governed by his father. So many separate tribes were forming that the older ways were breaking down. Everything was spreading. Becoming more complicated. There were cases where negotiators were needed more so than blood.

Zertepe, the tribal Medicine Man, was watching the activity from his own hut. His arms too were crossed, still thick and muscular despite his age. His dark eyes met Alush, and he nodded once.

Alush granted him access by waving him over. Though he was one of the few individuals that was allowed free access to the chief's hut, he knew the Medicine Man generally respected the authority of the younger by waiting until he was invited. It wasn't always the case, but more often than not.

Zertepe squelched his way through the mud, barefoot. He didn't dare wear his boots in the muck. "You look apprehensive."

"I do not like the suddenness of the storm."

Zertepe nodded. "Not good. Too sudden, too violent. Trees have fallen in the distance."

"And the corn?"

"I saw you send a boy to find out."

"But what do _you_ know?" Alush pushed his friend.

"We are not punished. The corn survived."

"Then what of the storm?"

Zertepe inhaled deeply. "Balance restored where it was interrupted. We will have guests."

Alush's eyes widened. "Really, old man? From which tribe? And why would that disturb the balance of things?"

"The balance is no longer disturbed. The storm god took care of that. And they are not of a tribe."

"You have seen them?"

Zertepe nodded. "In a set of stones. They sit and wait."

"We should send someone after them."

"The god did not wish it."

Alush frowned unhappily and returned his focus to his people.

Zertepe sighed and followed his gaze. "Either way, it is a bad sign. I would be wary."

"I will be. And what of you?"

"I have bones. I will see what they show me." He sniffed the wind. "The Dazzler has spoken. I can smell the char from here."

"I have several parties out."

"You mean you have several rapidly returning." He pointed to a distant path.

Alush let his arms drop in concern, his eyes narrowing on the distant men running up the hill and back into the village. The boy was leading the way, having already taken stock of the corn.

"Stay here," Alush commanded. "I want you with me to hear their tale."

Zertepe took three steps closer to him, standing at his shoulder as he watched the approach. "You sense it too, Alush, do you not? The change in the wind."

"All I know is I see the whites of their eyes, like spooked horses. I will hear what they have to say before I blame the wind."

The party arrived with panted breaths and heaving chests. Several doubled over, hands on their shaky knees as they fought to inhale the thickening wet air. Sweat poured from them, leaving trails over their dusty backs.

Alush stepped forward in disgust. "You look like swine," he complained. "My hunter and warrior clan are better than this. What has you fleeing like frightened old women?" His voice was stern, but not cruel.

Akecheta, the leader of the warrior men, stepped forward. He straightened, his chin raised, his eyes glinting. He wasn't much younger than Alush. "Two strange men. In the wood. We tried to take them, but the Dazzler kicked out at a tree and they got away."

"What two men? What tribe?"

"Not of a tribe. One was dark, like he could be. The other looked like the Sketwa that travel over the waters. Both were unclothed."

"Escaped?"

"They looked frightened. It is possible."

"Are they a danger to us?"

Akecheta looked chagrined. "We did not have them long enough to know. The Dazzler stripped us of our prize."

Alush winced briefly. "This is not good news. Clean up, then. What of our crops?"

"They survived," the boy, Nameesh, answered respectfully. "We do not need to shorten their time."

"That is well." Alush waved his hand at them, and they departed. He let his gaze linger on Akecheta. The warrior gave a bow, took two steps back, and joined the other men.

"It is not like him to let one get away," Alush muttered.

"The Dazzler had other things in mind. Now let me attend. I will have answers for you, the spirits willing."

"Go." Alush didn't watch his friend retreat into his hut. Instead, he turned his eyes to the hills, and stood silently. If the Dazzler protected these intruders, there had to be a reason. But the Chief was young enough, and foolish enough, to believe that if they were a threat, protection or not, they would be dealt with by him, accordingly.

He signaled one of his men to fetch Akecheta, giving orders for his warrior leader to return to him once he was cleaned.

Sacred protection or no. The men would be found.

*************************

Dean woke with a start, shivering. The sky was dark, the area around him even more so. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a faint sliver of moonlight finding it's way inside, coming to rest on his sleeping brother. Sam was curled on the ground beside him, his injured knee was an angry shade of red around the wrap. Dean winced and reached out to check the skin for infection, then darted a glance toward the opening between the two rocks. He heard voices. Very low, very hungry voices. For a moment he debated waking Sam, and decided any noise made by his waking to pain would give them away. He knew how Sam woke. It wasn't an easy thing. And seeing how he was facing the stone wall, he'd probably smack his kneecap into it, and wouldn't that just betray their hiding place?

There was the sound again, like a footstep crunching in the leaves. He had no doubt the men he saw earlier were excellent trackers, and that their number was up.

Grabbing Sam's shoulder had the promised reaction, but Dean's hand over Sam's mouth muffled it. Wide eyes met Dean's and he nodded. Dean slowly took his hand away and pointed outside. Again, the voices were heard. There was a rustle, and shadows in the moonlight. Dean slowly rocked forward on his hands and knees to peer out, and stared into a pair of glittering eyes.

It was enough to make him curse out loud. And here he was worrying that Sam would give their position away? He threw up his hands in surrender and scurried back against the wall as the small space filled with men carrying weapons, aimed right at them. "Whoa, whoa, wait!" he cried out hoarsely. "Okay! Easy! I promise, we're not gonna hurt you, okay? Let's all just take it easy!" He tried to shuffle closer to Sam, but his way was blocked. He was pushed to the ground, a spear aimed at his throat.

"Sketwa," the man said, jabbing the sharp point at him. Gestured with his spear towards

Dean's. . .

"Hey, whoa!" Dean's hands went to the defense. "Ske-twa. Got it. Right." He nodded, and pointed to himself. "Sketwa." He had no idea what it meant, for all he knew the man could be calling him rat piss, or berating his mother, or proposing marriage. But he repeated the word, showing that he was willing to listen even if he had no fucking clue what they were talking about.

The man looked fierce, but for a moment a flicker of something else crossed his face. Amusement, maybe? He spat out, "Sehewa."

"Se – hewa," Dean repeated.

The man laughed, and the others laughed with him. They started yelling out words that Dean couldn't catch, but he could tell from the snickers and jeers that they weren't good things. Dean had made himself a parrot, and they were teaching him naughty things. At least they hadn't pierced his heart. Yet.

Sam said nothing, just looked on in confusion, with maybe a hint of an uncertain smile.

Dean slowly, very slowly, pushed himself to a seated position. His left arm moved, and he took the water skin, then slowly passed it to the man in front of him, who apparently recognized it. He snatched it away, and Dean's hands flew back up. "Sorry. And uh, sorry about the shirt." He gestured open-handed to Sam's knee. Sam's lips pressed together in response.

The man with the spear didn't look happy, nor did he look threatening. He passed the spear to a man just behind him and crouched in front of Sam, eyeing the wound. One hand reached out, and Sam pressed back into the rock. The hand stopped, then slowly withdrew. Without knowing, Sam had proven that they didn't trust him, as he didn't trust them. Which put them on some sort of odd, equal ground.

The man rose. He spoke, circling his finger at the items in the dirt, then indicating that they should come with him. Weapons were put away, still within sight, but more carried than pointed. It was an offer, and Dean accepted. He and Sam rose slowly, gathered what was left of the stolen bags, and ducked out between the rocks. Dean held on to Sam's arm and guided him back down the rocky slope.

They stumbled and cursed their bare feet for a good hour or more, then finally emerged from the woodlands into a small village. Thatched-roof huts curled around the interior of the land. Children called out to each other and screamed in delight as they ran circles around the women who were hunched as they tended to their work in the center. Heads gradually bobbed up to look at the new arrivals, some women pointing and smiling, others looking away. One young woman peeked shyly from beneath a shield of raven-colored hair. It glistened over her sharp features like a dark river.

Dean made it a point to hold his head up as he walked. He could feel blood trickling down his sweaty body, and in turn he could feel the sweat licking at his scratches, stinging them. Trying to wipe away the forest debris that clung to him was proving fruitless, and he caught himself wondering how these people didn't drag half of nature around with them, like a magnet attracting metal shavings.

Sam little better off. He was filthy, and after their long hike, limping pitifully. Once on flat land he wouldn't let Dean help him, obviously not wanting to show any weakness in front of these men, but had it been another time he would have probably continued to accept Dean's arm. He couldn't flex his knee, and the wrap was warm with blood.

They stopped before a large hut. In the lower distance, the moon shone brightly over rows of crops, mostly corn. The storm had cleared the air, leaving a distinct green, earthy smell. It was calming, and beautiful, and Dean would have loved to enjoy it, except for the whole fear-for-his- well-being going on. He waited as the leader of the band ducked inside, then emerged before a taller man, one who hesitated in his doorway before slowly approaching him.

He wasn't just physically tall. He carried himself tall. Dark eyes met Sam's evenly, then glanced down to his. A deep red turban circled his head in layers. He wore a vest of leather over an open shirt, revealing a toned, muscular chest. His breeches were soft and flowed around his legs. He was barefoot.

And he showed interest in Sam.

Dean forced himself to remain still as a thin yet strong-looking hand stroked through his brother's hair, looking at the strands. A thumb planted itself beneath his chin and raised it, the jawline studied, the eyes scrutinized. The skin on the forearm was pinched. Dean was surprised they didn't examine his teeth.

Then it was his turn.

Turban man walked around him in a slow circle. Dean did his best to stand something close to military style, his shoulders back, his head high. He ignored the fact that he was naked. Compared to some of the men he could see, there was nothing to be ashamed of. And heck, the air was chilly anyway. It was obvious that a comparison was being made between the brothers, Sam's darker features and eyes, their father's traits, compared to his own lighter complexion and eyes, from their mother's side. Sam did seem to fit in more. Dean hadn't realized until that moment how different their looks really were, enough to make him wonder if they had Indian blood in them, and if Sam got it all while he was stuck with the European blend. Hell, even Sam's eyes were more narrow than his own.

Turban man backed off and signaled to another man, one with his long hair pulled back and a single feather tucked in at the side. They talked briefly, and the feathered man knelt down before Sam, putting a hand to his knee. Sam flinched, but otherwise remained still. The man stood, and nodded.

Turban man stepped forward. "You bring The Dazzler to us," he said in broken speech. "Why?"

Dean wasn't sure which surprised him more, the question or the fact that he understood it. "The Dazzler?"

"Why?"

Why what? "I don't understand."

"Come from sky." Turban man pointed up, then zig-zagged his finger downwards.

"Lightning," Sam said quietly. "We didn't. I mean, we can't do that."

"The Dazzler freed you."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "I think that was a coincidence," Dean said.

The man frowned at a word he didn't understand. "You are not here for trade," the man said. "Why are you?"

Well, wasn't that the million dollar question. He glanced back at Sam. "Maybe we came for clothes."

Narrow eyes thinned further. His thin arm snaked out, and a bony hand snatched Dean's wrist, pulling his arm outward. The skin on his forearm was pinched. "Hvtke. You are like the colony."

"Ow!" Dean hissed back a curse and pulled his limb back, rubbing the pain away. "What do you mean, colony?"

"You are from settlement?"

His speech was choppy, but he spoke well. It confused Dean even more. All this confused him, the sudden appearance of lush forests, the half naked men surrounding him, never mind his and his brother's own lack of dignity. He felt his heart beating quickly and continued to rub at his arm, using the sensation of his hand over skin to ground him. "We just got here." He had no idea what to say to the man.

He lifted his chin. He wasn't happy, which was fine, because Dean wasn't either.

"We, uh, lost our way," Dean replied, gesturing to Sam. "We're lost."

Turban man puzzled over Dean's meaning, and exchanged more with Feather man. "Your injury needs help." Sam lowered his head slightly, making it known that he wasn't trusting, but that the fact remained that walking was literally a pain. "You will go with Zertepe."

"What about my brother?" Sam asked.

"He will stay."

Sam gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Dean could see the tension in the set of his jaw. "That's not good enough."

Alush stepped forward. "We need not help you. He will stay."

Dean glanced at Sam. He brother needed help, but – "Hey, wait a minute!" Dean exclaimed as the man gently led Sam away. "We don't get to talk about this?" He felt hands close on his biceps. His anxiety raised a notch, if that were possible. Much higher and he'd blow the top off the meter

"He will go!" Turban man said sternly. He jabbed a finger towards Dean. "You will wait." And he waved Dean away, turning to his hut and disappearing inside. Feather man gave him a once-over, then turned.

Dean was escorted away.

*************************

"They don't trust you."

Dean raised his head. A man was standing in the doorway of the tiny hut he had been thrust into several hours earlier. He knew it was late, but was too tense to sleep. So he waited for something to happen. Anything. This wasn't jail, not really, despite the guards in front of the door holding scary-looking spears and an expression that was worse. But they didn't hesitate to let this man in, and even stood aside from their guard duty, according to the lack of shadow. What was Feather Man's name? Zeppo? "Thanks for the newsflash. Where's Sam?"

"Resting. Knee's sewn closed."

"You speak English."

"I do. Alush does. Some others." Zertepe walked into the hut and made himself comfortable.

Dean nodded and let his gaze drift toward the far wall. "If I ask where we are, you're gonna think I'm crazy."

"You were sent. You are not crazy." Zertepe leaned forward. "I saw your arrival. A flash of light, and there you were. Both of you. In the forest." He gestured down his body with his hand.

"Yeah, about that," Dean looked down uncomfortably, "as much as I generally like to impress the ladies, I'm not so sure about the men. Got any pants?"

"They don't trust you."

"We covered that."

"You are adolescent, must prove you are a man."

Dean leaned forward slowly. "Excuse me? Adolescent? Buddy, I can assure you there is nothing adolescent about me."

Again, Zertepe gestured. "You have skin of the white man. Your friend does not."

"He's my brother. My baby brother. He's got our Dad's . . ." Dean sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall of the hut, looking away. "Where are we?" he asked in a low voice.

"Mvskoke territory."

"And where is that?"

Zertepe spread his hands. "Here."

"Right, right, fine. Then when are we? Cause there's nothing about this that's modern, you know? Even the air smells different." It was something he'd wondered while sitting, trying to come up with a plan, or reason, or just figuring out what the hell was going on. "And look at you. No one dresses like that, except for those ceremony things. Or rain dances."

Zertepe looked confused, and Dean suddenly felt he had the upper hand. "Oh, come on! No newspaper with you? No calendar? Nothing? You have no idea, do you? Oh god, I just proved my point. You didn't keep track of a calendar year, not like. . .oh christ." Dean checked himself, then sat back and pulled at his face with a hard downward swipe. It didn't help. "How'd the hell he do it? I thought this was supposed to be a spirit walk or something." His head thumped back. "Bastard pulled a Doc Brown on us, and I'm stuck in freakin' Dances With Wolves."

"Who is 'he'?"

"Grampa. Uh. . .Simon Redhand. Eagle Eyes, for all I know. Glad I don't have all those names to keep up with."

"Then there is an important question to answer. Why are you here?"

Dean met his gaze evenly. "To stop something bad from happening. But it's supposed to be there, not here." His eyes roamed. "Something went wrong. His damned mojo's blown up in his face. Unbelievable." He met the other's eyes. "I want to see Sam."

"He is resting."

Dean slowly rose. "He can rest just fine with me there."

"You are not permitted."

"Bullshit I'm not permitted! I'm his brother! Thought you people were all about kinfolk!" He paced, then headed toward the door. "Screw this."

"You will not leave."

"Try and stop me." Dean was halfway out, throwing the words over his shoulder. And found himself back against the far wall, the breath crushed from his lungs, his vision swimming. He was vaguely aware of Zertepe standing over him, one hand coming to rest on his forehead.

"You must rest."

"No. . ." but he was fading, fast. "What've you done . . ."

"He is watching," the voice said in the distance.

************************

Three days later, Dean didn't feel any better about things.

He and Sam were facing the edge of the woods. Sam carried a large, thin knife that looked like an anorexic machete. Dean, well, he was holding a friggin' bow and arrow. It was a bit different from a crossbow. His aim was good, damned good, good enough to impress the otherwise stoic warriors watching him. His technique? Not so great. His inner arm bore several marks of failed attempts. But throwing knives? Ran circles around the bastards. So why was Sam holding the big knife, while he had the useless crap?

"Good practice," was all Alush offered, with a smirk.

No matter the time period, there would always be a bastard. At least they gave the white man a weapon. That had to mean something.

Especially considering the tension that was felt when white traders crossed close to the village. Dean wasn't allowed out of his hut, but was able to peer through the flap at the events. Alush spoke to them very briefly, very on his guard, then made sure they cleared the area. Dean had noticed several warriors in strategic places around the village, and he assumed in the bush, just in case things got messy. The distrust was thick in the air. The hatred was thicker. Dean was beginning to understand why they looked at him like they did, why his nights were interrupted by kids throwing small stones into his hut, hoping to hit him. Sam had yet to join him back in the hut. He stayed near the medicine man, who was overseeing his healing. Dean had a deeper feeling that they were kept separated for another reason.

Sam stood at his shoulder, his knee bent uncomfortably, the sole of his doeskin boot barely resting on the ground. He'd said nothing to Dean when he approached him, and it was all Dean could do not to run to his brother, check out the injury for himself, and take him out of this place. But they hadn't been threatened. They were alive. And it looked like they were being given a chance to. . .do something.

He was all up for that. Especially after staring at those grass walls for days on end, or whatever the hell they were. He'd go hunting with a damn toothpick if it meant a measure of freedom.

Several more joined the group, some his age, many younger. The boys were dressed in loincloths, like himself. The men wore breeches. Dean tried not to glance down at his meager covering, tried to contain his sigh. Now he understood. He was dressed like a boy, because he hadn't proven himself a man. Should've gone to Florida, dammit, got that tan. 'Cause he did tan. A little. Course it bleached his hair. He glanced at Sam's features, and for the first time in his life cursed his mother's Scots lineage.

Seriously. A freakin' loincloth?

A hand pressed to his back, and they were off. No ceremony, no nothing. Just gone.

Dean managed to ease beside Sam for a moment before. "You okay?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah."

GOD hearing Sam's voice was wonderful. "How come you get clothes?"

"Apparently I'm the better looking one after all."

"Or they want to hide that stupidly lanky body. You're like as tall as two of them standing on each other's shoulders."

"And yet they're not bothered by that. Whereas you. . ."

"I hear the chick dig things like this."

"Remind me to get you some thongs."

"Oh, BITE ME."

an older man squeezed between them and steered Dean to his left. He caught Sam's eye as he veered, and felt much better seeing the quirk in his expression, something that was uniquely Sam. Like soft amusement.

And again. Damn the loincloth.

They broke off into two groups, Dean with one and Sam with the other. He recognized one of the warriors with him, Akecheta. The others he'd seen, but made no attempt to talk to. It was easy, seeing as how if he wasn't stared at, he was ignored. Akecheta had given him a challenging glance or two, nothing with malice, but more of one hunter recognizing another. It was probably this familiarity that drove the man to Dean's side, to stick with him.

His group broke up into twos and threes. Akecheta pressed against Dean's shoulder and angled him to the west, towards thicker growth. Dean sent him an incredulous look, he was hardly protected enough to go into the growth, but there wasn't much choice. He gritted his teeth, and followed. They hurried forward, Dean close behind Akecheta. He skidded to a halt, colliding with the other man's back, jerking his head as Akecheta's hand flew up. They crouched in a small ditch, practically laying on the earth, and waited.

Something dark and heavy crashed through the bushes and sailed over their heads.

"Holy – !" Dean rose, but Akecheta was faster. He charged after the beast, from Dean's perspective chasing a shadow that was rapidly getting away from them. The warrior gave a whoop, and in the distance others answered.

The figure before him zig-zagged along paths that weren't really there, and Dean did his best to follow. Trees blurred beside him. He ran, bare feet flying over the ground, stumbling, gaining, free. Elation filled him. He yelled out, driving himself onward toward the shadow that was slowing.

A startled cry cut his off, and he almost stopped from the shock of knowing that voice. He'd heard it too many times before. He saw Akecheta raise his spear. "No! Wait!"

The spear flew, and hit home. There was an outraged growl that ended in another cry. Akecheta and Dean emerged into a clearing as other men joined them. Dean took one look, and fell to his knees beside Sam, half pinned underneath the dying animal.

"Dammit! Help me!" The demand wasn't needed, as everyone joined together to free his brother. Sam's face was twisted in pain, the boar half across his chest as though it had barreled into Sam right as it was hit. He put both hands to the beast and shoved hard, rocking it to the side but not budging it. The head whipped around at him, then barred teeth at Sam's throat.

Akecheta's hands were wrapped in leather, and he gripped the muzzle as several others grabbed the boar's legs. Dean shoved again, and they hoisted the animal off Sam, who immediately turned to his side, curled in on himself, hacking.

"Sam!" Dean clutched his arm and shuffled around the body, searching Sam's face.

"Damn thing's like a car," Sam wheezed.

"You ever had a car land on you?"

"No. Bet it feels like that."

The boar was a safe distance away. Blood and spittle flowed from the slack mouth. Akecheta leaned over Sam and turned him onto his back, gently pressing at his ribs. Sam groaned. Dean took a step back as his brother was pulled to his feet and steadied. Akecheta gave a nod to Dean and rejoined his men.

Dean instantly took Akecheta's place at Sam's side. "You okay?" He pressed his own hand against Sam's ribs, feeling the uneasy breathing through his palm and fingers.

"Yeah," Sam replied shakily, trying to keep himself upright. "Don't care for a repeat performance, though."

"Me either. Let's get you back." Dean took a step, only one step, before he heard something – odd. Something abnormal. Something nearby. Even the other men stopped binding the legs of the boar to listen. Heads turned, attentions perked. Akecheta stood slowly.

The hissing grew in volume, echoing all around them, bending around the trees. Wide-eyed, Dean took a step from Sam, only to see Akecheta hit the ground and start skidding.

Something was dragging him. Something unseen.

His warriors were frozen to the spot, but Dean jumped forward, sensing Sam behind him. He dove and hit the ground on his stomach, grabbing Akecheta's hands as the man swept by, feeling the jarring halt of the warrior's body before he started sliding with him. Sam's weight crashed onto the backs of his legs. His shoulder joints screamed. Akecheta's terrified eyes met his, and Dean read their meaning clearly. _Don't let go._

"I got you, man, I got you." Dean looked over his shoulder. "Sam, get the bow!"

He was vaguely aware of Sam's head whipping up. "What? Are you crazy?"

"Now!"

"I'm not letting you go!"

He was sliding forwards anyway, very subtly, and he couldn't hold on. "Sam!" The weight left his legs, and he immediately slipped along the ground. Akecheta cried out, and Dean called out over him, "Now, Sam!"

Sam set the arrow in the bow, aimed, and let loose. There was a distant shriek, and all motion stopped.

"Again!" Dean yelled, gathering himself while trying to pull Akecheta to his feet.

Sam set another bow and let it loose into the trees. A distant wail chilled Dean to his bones. Then there was nothing but the sound of a distant crashing in the foliage, and the heavy breaths of frightened men.

************************

Akecheta's chest was torn. The warrior was guided to the medicine man's tent with Alush close behind, asking questions of the men who tagged along. Sam and Dean watched for a moment before Sam was carefully guided away. Dean felt his heart race in anger, and he stormed back to his own hut. He wiped down his face with the edge of the door flap and walked further in. What did these people want from him? His brother could have been killed. Akecheta nearly was. What the hell did they want?

A shadow behind him made him turn. A boy was there, probably eight or ten years old, and on his upturned palms he held two thin layers of clothing.

Dean slowly took the clothes from the boy. One unfolded into a shirt, the other, breeches. He gave a nod of thanks. The boy smiled and hurried away.

Well.

He glanced down at the shredded loincloth and winced. Not much to remove, not that there was much covering anyway. The leather had done a pretty good job protecting him, all things considered, but he was still careful when pulling on the soft pants. While certain areas seemed relatively unscathed, and thank God for that, his abdomen and chest was torn, though not as badly as Akecheta's. He eased the shirt over his shoulder and left the front open. Yet another shadow appeared, and he turned his head.

It was the woman he'd first seen, the one with raven black hair. She peered at him from underneath its long veil, her dark eyes probing his, but shyly. In her hand she held a small bowl of water, and a cloth.

Dean licked at his bottom lip, and sucked it in, biting on it. He wished he hadn't been dragged across the ground, because. . .on the other hand, apparently that was why she was here.

She walked in slowly, not looking at him, and set her bowl down. Gestured for him to sit on the small blanket folded in the corner of the hut. Dean did, and she set about making a small fire. He watched her long arms dart in and out of her brown robe. With one hand she swept back her long hair and secured it with what looked like polished bone, accomplishing the feat with one swift, twisting motion that mesmerized him. Rocks were arranged around the fire, and the bowl was set on the largest, flattest one.

She looked up at him, slowly. His breath hitched.

She rose just as slowly. Knelt before him. He felt his heart pounding, which was insane but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. And her hands were right there, pulling open his shirt to fully expose his chest wounds. His stomach fluttered. She guided him to lay on his back, and he did, his eyes not leaving her face.

She returned with the bowl. Reached deep into the folds of her robe and pulled out three leaves, which she dropped into the warm water. The air soon filled with an herbal scent that made Dean drowsy, and he didn't want to be drowsy. He wanted to enjoy this. The first sting of the medicinal cloth pressed to his skin made him change his mind, and he grunted loudly, his eyes widening before he forced them closed. He exhaled harshly as she moved to another wound. What the hell were those leaves? Christ! He felt like he was being flayed by the ground all over again.

She worked for a while, dipping the cloth in the medicine and pressing it to his chest. He grew used to the sting and instead concentrated on the smell, and her hair tickling his skin. Blinking eyes showed her in profile, her proud chin, high forehead, glistening hair. Slowly, so slowly, he saw his hand drift up to touch it.

She jumped, and backed away.

"No, no, I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry." Dean sat up, one hand raised in reassurance. He made no move towards her. In fact, he backed away slightly, to prove he wasn't a threat. "I didn't meant to scare you. Please." He slowly turned his hand over as an offering to her.

She dipped her head and quickly gathered her things, then left the tent.

**********************

"No salt gun. No book of – just, no book! Period! We don't even have Dad's journal. Now how the hell are we supposed to kill something supernatural with nothing?" Dean paced in his hut. He was already annoyed that he'd scared off the woman, and his wounds wasn't helping matters.

"Surely the shaman has something."

Dean spun. "Sam, if the shaman could take care of this thing then why the hell are _we _here? I don't know, don't they hand down their craft or somethin'? Gramps should be able to do something about all this, or find out, I mean hell, he sent us here! You telling me that mojo that powerful can't take this thing down?"

"Maybe he doesn't know what 'this thing' is," Sam responded.

"He knew enough to send us here!"

"I don't know, Dean! All I know is what we've got, right now!"

"Which is a whole lot of nothing! So, what do we do? Go talk to the shaman? Tell him there's something in the woods and we have no clue what it is, but we've gotta kill it?"

"And see if he has anything we can use." Sam turned and gave Dean a frank look.

Dean stopped and stared at the ground, hands on his hips. He thought for several minutes before speaking. "Okay, look. We need to tap into their lore. Find out what brought that thing here in the first place, you know, once we figure out what the hell it is."

"Yeah, just don't refer to it as 'lore' around them, okay?"

"Right." Dean squinted off into the distance. "Wonder what Bobby would think of this one."

"He'd probably drain the county of water trying to prove to himself that we're not insane."

"I don't think holy water cures insanity."

"You ever known that to stop Bobby?"

"Point."

"So, the sooner we talk to him, the better."

"Who, Bobby?"

"No, idiot. The Shaman."

"Yeah, okay. Right behind ya."

Sam nodded. "Course there's the small matter of how to bring it up."

"Oh, that? That's easy. 'Hey, we're from your future, we're here to help.' Sounds like a bad version of Ghost Hunters."

"You do realize. . ."

"Don't even say it. Bet half their gadgets don't work anyway."

"Wonder what Missouri thinks of that show."

"We should ask her." Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "After we finish up here, and find out how the hell to get back."

"Dean, you think if we kill the creature here, we kill it there?"

"God knows. Let's try."

"I'll talk to Zertepe."

"Good idea. I'll catch up."

"Whoa, wait. We're are you going?"

Dean sighed. "I need to think, Sam."

"You want company?"

"Oh, come on, Sam," Dean muttered. "Give a man some privacy, huh?"

********************

The river was far below him, too far to hope to accomplish any fishing from the path. The only thing he could do was to climb down, which was challenging enough in his slick boots. The lack of things to grab hold of made the decent more hazardous, and Dean cursed every yard. He cursed the damn thing out in the woods that tried to take Akecheta. He cursed the fact that he had to come here, out in the middle of nowhere, to do the impossible. And screw getting back. He slipped and crashed through a bush before skidding to a stop four feet above a small bank. He wanted his Impala. Diners. Traffic lights, his gun, his jacket would be nice. He wanted his arsenal. So what did he have? An arrow.

He grunted miserably and sat on the soggy bank, knees drawn, heels planted in the soft soil. Why the hell he even came down here, he didn't know, but it wasn't to fish. He couldn't fish. Not without a line. He pulled the stone arrowhead out of the one pocket his breeches had, and studied it, turning it over and over with his fingers. Leaned forward and glanced at the water below him. Grabbed a small, straight branch that was knocked loose, yanked a piece of leather fringe from the side of his breeches (chintzy, but at least it was a slight decoration, not that sort of thing that went all the way down his leg) and did his best to wrap the arrowhead to the end of the stick. He surveyed his work with a critical eye, then unwrapped the leather and slid onto his stomach, trailing the piece into the water. The pulled the soaked leather taut, and again wrapped the arrowhead to the stick, this time fastening it more securely. There. Much better. He slid onto his stomach once more, and watched carefully, his chin firmly set. Let the hunting instinct take over.

Stabbed. Missed.

The river was probably too fast to be able to stab a fish. He shifted and slid into the water, yelping at the unexpected cold. His pants became a second skin, and heavy, threatening to slide from his thin hips. He hitched them up with one hand, his eyes tracking the water.

Stabbed. Missed.

His nostrils flared in anger, and he refocused.

Stabbed. Fell backwards into the water. Emerged, sputtering, gasping, and fell under again.

The cold soaked through his skin and into the sudden burn in his shoulder. The burn flared into mind-numbing agony and he grabbed at it, then opened his mouth to cry out. Water rushed in. His heart jumped in panic, he closed his mouth, eyes wide, but his air was gone and he couldn't fine the surface. His eyes opened.

The water was black.


	5. Chapter 5

"He is a busy man." The Chief walked on, not even stopping for Sam.

Sam kept pace with Alush. "I know. But you don't understand. . ." he was stopped by a large man, one of Alush's warrior guards, holding a spear, pushing it at him.

Alush turned. "_You_ do not understand. You must show respect. You show none."

Okay, sure. He got that, and he cringed inwardly. "I'm sorry, really. Look, I . . ."

A young boy ran towards them, yelling loudly, pointing. Alush frowned, then looked at Sam.

"What?" Sam asked. The Chief looked at him solemnly, and his breath caught.

"It is your brother," Alush said quietly. "Come."

**************************

Six men followed Alush, Sam and the boy through the woods and down to the river. He didn't need to ask. He saw the immobile body of his brother, on his back, half out of the water on the opposite bank. A large arrow protruded from his shoulder. Blood covered his side.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and pushed the men out of the way, planting his heels on the steep slope as he started down.

"No," Alush said, and arms grabbed him, pulled him back. "Not our land."

"What?"

"Cherokee."

Sam fought the grips. "We have to get him!"

"We can not cross onto their land." Alush looked at the still body in concern.

"Listen to me." Sam yanked away from the hands holding him and grabbed the chief's arm, feeling himself once again being pulled, this time in anger. "Dean isn't Cherokee. He's not Mvskoke. Neither am I!"

"They do not care. They shot him. Left him for dead. Didn't care to take his body."

"They get warriors," said a youth, who was learning English.

Sam glanced at the child, then glared at Alush. "Would they? If there was only one person here, one person that shot him, would he go back to get more? And they'd come back for Dean. . ." his eyes drifted back to his brother's still form.

Alush straightened. "We can not help you."

"So you're gonna leave him there? What if they kill him?"

"They will. If he is not already dead."

Sam's face darkened, and once more he yanked free of the hands holding him. "We were sent here to help you," he hissed. "Don't you get that?" The face before him was stoic. "Great. Screw you." He shoved Alush away, shoved everyone away as voices raised, and plummeted down the bank and into the water.

The river tried to eat him. It sucked him under, forcing his head down again and again, bound his arms, froze his heart in his chest. He had no time to think of anything but fresh air. His head finally broke the surface and he gasped, then realized he was already down river, that fighting the current wasn't working, that he was losing the battle, and rapidly losing his brother. All this as useless as his leaden limbs. And as he went under for the fourth time, convinced this time that he wouldn't rise, he felt a hand on his wrist, then around his torso, forcing him up. Hard ground was beneath him, harder hands were pounding his back and pressing against his ribs. Water rose from places where it should never have been. Sam rolled and coughed up his lungs. He coughed up his fucking toenails. The hands turned him over and whacked his back again, and he was half grateful, half pissed, and completely scared because he had no idea who was holding him. So he forced his coughing fit to end, and opened his eyes, his hands flying out in defense. The face that looked down at him, stunned him. "Akecheta?"

The warrior smiled and gave his cheek a pat. "Good."

Sam coughed again. "Good?" he croaked.

Akecheta pointed to him. "Good," he repeated sternly, and Sam wasn't about to debate him.

"I'm getting there." Sam sat up with his help, then shoved to his feet. "How far down are we? Are we on the other bank?" He leaned over dizzily and braced himself on his knees as he fought for each breath.

Aketcheta jabbed his finger up the bank, walking sideways, eager to move on but waiting on Sam. He spoke rapidly.

Sam nodded and forced his burning body to move.

They both slid in the loose mulch, and stopped several times to listen. A flock of birds took off from the trees making Sam nearly shit in his pants, but other than that there were no disturbances. Fifteen minutes later, they found a curve in the bank. Dean was just ahead, now face down on the small shore like he'd tried to move and passed out, his wounded shoulder half propped by the broken arrow.

Sam wasted no time. He fell to his knees beside his brother. The body was gently rolled, with Sam cradling Dean's head. Already, the skin felt heated. The wound was ugly, and Akecheta tsked and clicked his tongue like an old woman. He looked around, placed a quick and silent hand on Sam's shoulder, then rushed into the woods.

Sam pulled Dean into his lap as best he could. He cupped his hand over Dean's forehead, then pressed it against his cheek. "Hey. You hear me? I'm here, you're gonna be okay. We're gonna fix this. We always fix these thing, right?" He held Dean to him, minding the wound. His fingers snaked down Dean's arm, searching for his pulse. "That's it. Keep going, keep breathing. You're doing great. Between your shoulder and my knee, we'll make quite a team battling this creature, huh? It'd help if you opened your eyes. Gotta see the thing coming. Dean? Open your eyes. Come on. Don't make me press on this wound. I'll do it just to hear you scream, you know that. So you may as well just open your eyes."

Akecheta returned with several leaves, each one larger than his hand. He dipped them into the water, then signaled for Sam to lay Dean flat on his back. Akecheta sat beside Dean's injury. He made a motion that showed he would pull the arrow out, and waved Sam closer. It took a moment for Sam to realize Akecheta wanted him to straddle his brother to hold him down. He did so, hovering over him as Akecheta pressed Sam's right hand to Dean's chest, and his left on Dean's arm just below the injured shoulder. Grabbed Sam by the shoulders and gave him a quick shake. Sam understood, and braced Dean, mashing his brother's chest and arm to the ground.

Akecheta gripped Dean's shoulder, curled his fingers around the arrow's shaft, and jerked.

Dean came to with a yell and fevered eyes as the arrow tore free. He tried to arch against the pain, against Sam, but Sam held him The leaves were immediately pressed to the wound, and Sam clamped his hands down over it. Akecheta pressed his hands down hard over Sam's. Dean panted, his eyes wide and roving. One hand grabbed Sam's arm, trying to pry him away. "Now, wait, easy," Sam soothed.

"Son of a. . ."

"I know, I know, just hang on."

". . .bitch shot me. . ."

"That's not a sexist remark, is it Dean?" The wound was still bleeding more than he liked. Sam pressed down harder.

"I dunno who. . .CHRIST!" Dean's head raised to look at Sam's ministrations in disbelief.

"Sorry. Akecheta's idea."

"God!" Dean closed his eyes and worked to steady his breathing. "You're breaking my shoulder."

"Don't tempt me, you wuss." Dean was pale. He started to shiver, and Sam shuffled closer to him, pressing his legs along Dean's side. He didn't have much body warmth to offer, but a little was better than nothing.

His eyes blinked rapidly. "Where's. . .the bastard. . ."

"Akecheta? I don't know, he ran back in the woods."

"H'd you find me?"

"Dean! Open your eyes. Some kid came running for us. We're on the other bank across the river."

He did, for a moment. His breathing deepened as he fought the pain. "Got – a boat?"

"I don't know how we're getting across. And I think we're in enemy territory."

That opened Dean's eyes. "'Course we are." He blinked several times. "H's your knee?"

"What?" Sam laughed.

"You're wet. Should'nt've got in the water. No telling wh's in the shit."

"Are you serious?" Sam laughed, incredulous, but it was great to hear. Dean's eyes were focusing, and Sam could see his instincts kicking in.

Akecheta slammed into Sam's shoulder. "Go! We go, now!" He yanked Sam to his feet.

Sam cursed and just managed not to step on his brother. He was released just as quickly, and the two men hoisted Dean to his feet, where he wavered. Sam grabbed his brother, bracing him against his vertigo. "What? What is it?" Sam asked anxiously, but the question was quickly answered by a distant rustle in the bush. "Crap. We gotta go."

"Wh's wrong?" Dean gasped against his pain.

"I think they've decided to take interest in us after all." Sam said quickly as Akecheta shoved the along the bank.

"Enemies?" Dean asked blindly.

"Yeah."

"Whr's war whoop?" He stumbled.

"Don't think there is one, Dean."

"No war whoop?" The brothers froze as a loud sound peeled through the trees. "Doesn't sound good. . ."

". . .Dean, I think that was it. . ."

"Go."

"You happy now?"

"Go, go, go!"

Akecheta led the way. Sam helped Dean along, arms wrapped around him as Dean protected his shoulder. They could hear the band gaining on them. Akecheta called back to them, not stopping but checking on the men as they ran as fast as their injuries would allow.

Akecheta skidded to a halt as men jumped from the trees, pulling him to the ground. The cry he gave was unlike anything Sam had ever heard before. It was pure fear mixed with pure rage, a warrior's cry of defiance. And they were on him.

Sam felt himself being pulled from Dean. He struggled and gave a warrior's cry of his own. Fighting. Seeing Dean go down, his face tight with pain.

And he followed him.

************************************

Everything smelled different. It was the first thing he noticed, like a dream. Like his mind was aware that he wasn't where he should be, and was trying to tell him.

"Sam. Sam, wake up!"

Or maybe it was that.

Sam's head fell back and thumped against something hard. He winced and let it fall forward again before giving it a shake. Groaned. Okay, not a good idea, the whole moving thing. He heard his name again, and let his vision focus on the form in front of him. "Dean?"

"You with me?"Concern in the voice.

Sam inhaled deeply, blinking, forcing the world into focus. "Mmm." He exhaled slowly, taking stock of his body. Trying to tell where all the pain was coming from. "Yeah, I think so. You okay?" He tried to concentrate on Dean.

"Just peachy. Blink for me."

"What?"

"Blink your eye. Tilt your head to your right."

Nothing made sense. ". . .the hell are you talking about?"

"You want blood in your eye? You know that shit stings like a bitch, and I don't wanna hear about it!"

Sam slowly tilted his head, and blinked rapidly, feeling a small tickle just pass the corner of his eye. He managed to rub the side of his head against his shoulder, and felt a sticky smear. "Oh. Thanks."

"Blood stings like a bitch."

"So you said."

"Worth repeating."

Yellow daylight filtered into the tent, barely. It was a large tent, with two poles holding the tied, thin fabric up from the ground. Sam was bound to one of the poles, his hands tight behind him. Dean was tied to the opposite, facing him. Had to be bad for his shoulder. Blood streaked his chest, and it wasn't all dried. "Cherokee, I take it?" Sam asked.

"That's who they are?" Dean grunted.

"That's what Alush said."

"Guess that's who it is, then." He shifted slightly and winced.

Sam glanced around the tent. "He's not here."

"Who?"

"Akecheta."

"Haven't seen him." Dean shifted again, and Sam realized he was working at his bonds.

"Hey, stop it! You'll tear your shoulder."

"You mean worse that it is?" He cursed.

Sam was working his own wrists. Their ankles were bound as well, and several coils of rope kept their torsos flush to the pole. Even if he freed his wrists, he wasn't certain he'd be able to move his arms. "I said, stop!"

Dean glared, but there was no malice behind it. "See this? This is what I look like when I'm ignoring you."

Sam felt a give. "I think I'm getting free, so just humor me." His head whipped around as a large shadow blocked the outside light.

A man entered, a seven-foot-wide, eight-foot-tall monster. Sam was certain he'd never seen a man so large. A smaller man joined him, and they stood with crossed arms, staring at Sam and Dean.

Sam cut his eyes over to Dean and saw a smirk forming. As glad as he was that Dean was whole, the combination of his being bound and that smirk spelled doom. On the other hand, he was pissed as hell, and waited for the tongue-lashing. "I take it you're not the welcoming committee," Dean said. "In fact, it looks like you've come to guard us. Or maybe protect whoever's about to come through that flap? I gotta tell ya, you're big and bad-ass and afraid of bugs if you really think we can do anything to you, so I think you better take your posturing asses outta here, cause you both stink." And his head snapped to the side as he was punched in the jaw by a fist the size of a freight train.

"White man talk too much," a gruff voice said, and he resumed his former stance, arms crossed.

Sam watched his brother in alarm as Dean slowly worked his jaw. "That was a predictable response," Dean said to Sam with difficulty. "Could've said something. You know, like,'Oh, by the way, they speak fucking ENGLISH."

"Yeah. I think more Cherokee spoke English than Creeks did," Sam muttered.

"Right. Way to warn me, there, Sammy."

"Sorry." Sam cleared his throat and addressed the man that had spoken. "Where's the man that was with us?"

He said nothing. Neither did his companion.

"Great," Dean said. "Well, since you're not up for conversation, I'm just gonna keep working at these ropes, here. You know, if that's okay with you." He gave a smile and wink, then rolled his eyes and frowned, twisting his wrists as much as he could. Exaggerating. The men watched in amusement.

"Dean," Sam muttered, thinking about the cracking impact of fist on jawbone, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Shhh! They can hear you, remember?"

Sam just shook his head in amazement. _He_ was the one with the head injury? Must be the fever praying on Dean's brain.

A third man entered, thus crowding the already hot tent. He wasn't as tall, but his intensity reached out and grabbed Sam's nerves, to the point that he felt every bone and joint tighten when he approached. The man hesitated by Dean and glanced down his nose at him, then turned glittering eyes to Sam. He held up a hand, and the men left him, though Sam noticed their hulking shadows remained just outside the tent's flap.

This new arrival walked around them slowly, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed in scrutiny. Dean followed his motion, then grew bored. Sam was too tense, and he couldn't explain why. It wasn't until the chief pointed a long finger at him that he spoke again. "You are Mvskoke. Who?"

Sam swallowed. "Who? I don't understand."

"You are with Mvskoke." He pointed to their half-clothing. "What clan?"

Sam's mouth opened, but he hesitated before answering. "I don't know. I mean, they never said. We're not – we're not really from here."

"White man." He pointed to Dean. "White man." Pointed to Sam. "You trade, then." He bent down and raised the hem of Sam's pants. "You steal."

"No! These were given to us. We were sent by someone and. . ."

Dean cleared his throat harshly.

The man narrowed his eyes. "You were sent. You were sent to us?"

Okay, not good not good not good. "We were sent by a friend to help the Mvskoke village. One of your men shot my brother." Sam tried to keep his cool, but it wasn't easy. "He washed up on your bank. Me and my friend, we were trying to save him. So of course we ended up on your land."

"White men are not trusted here."

"The Mvskoke trusted us," Sam insisted heatedly.

"We do not trust them."

"And despite all this, we're still alive. Why?" Sam stared at the man. He gave his bonds a sharp tug, but didn't allow his anger to waver from the stare that held him pinned as much as the ropes held his wrists.

The man didn't answer him. Sam jerked again at his bonds, breathing sharply, as the man knelt before Dean and examined his shoulder, not touching it, but ripping the injury apart with his eyes. A finger tapped his skin lightly, and Dean cringed as he traced the wound up the side of his neck, following a particularly deep scratch that led to his jawline. Dean craned his head away tensely, eyeing the man from the corner of his eye. He grabbed Dean's chin roughly, and said right into his face, "We do not trust you."

Dean glared at him. "Yeah. I've heard that one before."

The chief stood quickly, releasing Dean's chin with a painful snap of the flesh. "We will talk later." And that was it. He walked out without looking back. One large head peeked in, grunted, and the shadow shifted to completely cover the entrance of the tent.

Sam let his head drop to his chest and he exhaled, trying to settle his nerves. He remained that way for several moments before raising his head. "You okay?" he finally managed to ask Dean.

Dean just looked at him.

The day passed slowly. They were allowed one small cup of water, which was raised to their lips and poured into their mouths with little care. They remained bound. Sam was losing sensation in his limbs, and he could only imagine how Dean felt with his shoulder injury. His ropes had loosened, but not much. Dean remained still as the setting sun colored the tent with an orange glow. He no longer tried to get free. His face was drawn, and the more quiet he became, the more Sam's concern grew.

The big guy came in. He looked them over with an expression of distaste, like he was unhappy. He walked back out without a word.

Dean's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Okay. Is it just me, or did he come in here just so he could suck all the air out of the room?"

"You're pale." The observation sounded more calm than Sam felt about it. He watched Dean look around uneasily and shift against the pole.

"That's 'cause he sucked the air out of the room!"

Sam frowned. "You having trouble breathing? Did you hit your ribs when you fell in the water?"

"How the hell should I know? Why?"

"Because you're gasping like a – Dean! Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean's chest was heaving. "I – I don't know. I can't breathe. It's like. . .shit, _Sam_. . ." Dean's head shot up, then back, his mouth gaping.

"Dean? Hey!" Sam yanked forward as Dean fought for breath. Damn river, damn fever, damn injury, damned Indians. . . "Hey!" he yelled. "I need help! Get in here!" The shadow outside moved, and a large head poked back in. "Listen to me," Sam continued frantically, "He can't breathe, I think he's hurt, get him! You understand?" Sam jerked and pulled forward frantically, feeling the ropes cut into him, getting nowhere. "Dammit, help him!"

The other man walked in to see what the commotion was about. They spoke quickly, and both leaned over Dean. They held his head still and studied his face as he breathed at them harshly, his eyes rolling. One listened to his heart. Both stood, and regarded Sam.

Sam just looked at them, unable to believe they were going to let Dean suffer. But then, why not, if they were the enemy? "Look, you can't do this to him. We didn't do anything wrong! Please!"

Dean wheezed painfully, attracting the attention of the two men. They conferred, then bent to loosen the ropes around his wrists, and chest. Dean leaned, gasping, and he reached up as the men leaned in to help him to his feet –

– and banged their heads together with a loud, sickening crack that made him cry out in pain. He fell to his side, grabbing his shoulder, panting. The smaller man moaned, and was still. The larger man raised a hand to his head in disbelief, and came at Dean, only to be kicked back down with a two-footed blow to the kneecaps, and stomped again in the head. He was still, and Dean was cursing like a sailor, holding his wound.

Sam watched the turn of events in shock. The two large men were out for the count. "Dean? What the hell?"

Dean glanced at the still bodies. "Worked better than I thought."

"You – you asshole! You scared the shit outta me! Fuck!"

"Language, dude." Dean coughed and pushed himself upright. He pulled his knees in and worked on the rope binding his ankles, then crawled one-handed to Sam. He sat behind him and started working on the ropes. "Had to make it convincing."

"I can't believe I fell for that!"

"I can't believe _they _fell for that. As for you, you're just a mother hen."

"Yeah, well. . .you're still pale."

"Nice comeback. So much for your college education." He grunted as he tugged on the rope.

"I'm serious. You don't look good."

"I'm freezing and my shoulder hurts like hell, okay? The hell'd you pull at these ropes for?"

"I was trying to get to you!"

"Well, next time, don't."

Sam bristled. "Oh, okay, yeah! Sure! Next time you're in trouble I'll just sit and watch!"

"Dude. I wasn't in trouble."

Sam opened his mouth for a retort that he hoped would shut Dean down, but a loud groan cut into his remark. And it wasn't from Dean. "You didn't hit them hard enough."

He could feel his brother's tension escalate. "Hello? Injured, here? And it was like smacking around two bulldozers, but then nothing's ever good enough for ya."

Movement. "God, Dean hurry up," Sam whispered, his heart freezing mid-beat.

"I'm working on it!" Dean gritted, his own eyes flicking between the ropes and the reviving men.

Sam pressed back against the pole, pulling his knees close to him as the larger man moved, turning his head to the side, trying to make himself invisible. Like that would keep the large men down. He felt Dean's fingers working at the knot, pinching at his skin, and flexed his wrists, trying to give him more room.

One large head turned, one large eye opened, and one large roar sounded angrily before the bulldozer launched himself at Dean.

Dean hit the ground hard behind him with a barely restrained cry. Sam heard the air leave his lungs in a pained rush. He quickly turned to look over his shoulder and saw Dean's hand fly up to protect his face. Sam tugged at the half loosed ropes as the huge man straddled his brother, massive fist clenched and ready to punch his lights out.

Suddenly, Sam was free, and he yanked the ropes from his chest and did his best two-footed dive, knocking the man off Dean. They landed together on their sides. Sam rolled, and felt the huge paw instantly wrap into his shirt and hoist his upper body off the ground. The huge fist raised again, and suddenly Dean was on the man's back, one arm around his neck, pulling backwards with all his weight.

Sam braced his hands and shoved at the man's chest, heaving upwards as he did. The three went down, Dean still strangling the man from underneath him. Sam snapped the ropes from his ankles and grabbed a stone from the unused fire. He hit the man on the side of the head, then shoved at the man again, freeing Dean and pulling him to his feet as the first man groaned loudly. They hurried out of the tent, shoving past a body barreling inside, and ran out into the pending darkness.

Sam was dizzy. He held onto Dean as they ran, but quickly found Dean was holding him up just as much as he was supporting his brother. "What about Akecheta?" he asked.

"Dunno," was all Dean could gasp as they ran. "Get clear first."

The trees swallowed them whole. The temperature dropped a good ten degrees as mist enveloped them, hindering their way. They ran as fast as they could, the sounds of men close on their heels.

******************

Dean skidded down a slope, pulling Sam with him, and ducked behind a large tree. They nestled between the large roots, half hidden by low-growing shrubs, and lay as flat as they could. Sam was limping, his knee joint stiff and sore, and looked confused. His head was still bleeding. Dean was afraid to push him much further. His own wound hurt like a mother, but it wasn't hampering him. He was sweating, though, and knew from experience that he needed to get the damn thing patched up. But first things first.

He heard the trackers running overhead and pressed his hand against Sam's chest, keeping him still. Sam was frozen, his eyes wide, then closing as he steadied his breathing. Dean rose ever so slightly, eyeing the path above them as the noises fell into the distance. "Come on," he whispered, and continued down the slope, towards the river.

The sound of their arrival was swallow by the rapids. This part of the water looked more dangerous to cross. Dean stuck a foot in, and pulled it back out. "Damn! It's colder at night."

"Dean, we can't leave Akecheta. He saved your life."

"I know." Dean nodded, the motion making his vision swim. "Dammit, I know." He sighed and sat on the bank, cradling his shoulder as best he could.

He felt Sam beside him. Felt a hand on his forehead. "Dean. . ."

"I know that too, Sammy." He blocked out all sight. Below him, the river raged. Thunder sounded in the distance, and Dean suddenly knew why the river was flowing so fast. "It'll be raining up at the village."

"Good for covering our tracks, at least," Sam offered. But it was half-hearted.

The truth was, neither man wanted to leave Akecheta. But neither knew how to rescue him. No weapons, no knowledge of the way the Cherokee warriors, and seriously out-manned. Their hesitation had more to do with indecision than the obstacle of getting back.

Dean slapped Sam on the leg. "Let's go. You can rally the troops and we'll crash their party."

"You really want to put yourself in the middle of their war? That's not why we're here."

Dean glared at Sam. He was right, of course. Akecheta's decision to follow him was his own, and opened a can of worms they weren't ready for. "Dammit!" he said again, because it was the only thing that came to mind.

Sam just took his arm and led him up river.

They ran until they could run no longer.


	6. Chapter 6

*******************

Sam woke with a jolt. He glanced at the various skins covering him and threw them off, taking in his surroundings quickly, blinking in the light that filtered through the thatched hut. Hut? Were they back? He pushed to his feet and ducked outside, blinking in the sun's glare. A man passed by and smiled with a small wave of greeting. Sam raised his hand, and hurried to the hut where Dean had been staying, on the other side of the village. Flung aside the flap, rushed in, and was stopped by the glare of a young woman. "Oh. OH. Sorry."

She waved at him to leave. Dean was laying beside her, solidly asleep. His flushed skin was beaded with sweat. Hell no, he wasn't leaving him.

He raised both hands in a polite, but determined manner and slowly approached them, crouching beside his brother. His flesh was hot to the touch. A strong medicinal smell rose from the pot near his head. He noticed several bones of birds and various other woodland creatures in a semi circle around him. Obviously healer's magic, though the shaman was nowhere to be seen.

The woman watched him steadily, with a hint of mistrust. When Sam reached for Dean again, she stopped him, her small hand flying out to intercept his. She spoke her language in a voice deeper than he would have expected. Maybe he was interfering. He pointed to the corner. "I'll wait," he said, leaving no room for argument. But she pointed outside.

It was a war of wills. "He's my brother," Sam said sternly, and pointed to the corner.

She barked staccato words at him, and pointed outside, the lowered her finger as Alush walked in.

Sam rose to his feet. Alush didn't look happy. He glanced at Dean, then shot a disturbed look back at Sam. Signaled curtly. Sam felt he had no choice but follow, which apparently pleased the woman.

It just pissed him off more.

****************

_Dean was lost. The woods were dark and ominous, each tree standing tall and still like natural cemetery markers. The mounds of earth at each base reminded him of fresh dirt covering a new grave. They were everywhere he looked, these mounds, and they grew into small hills, each one flattened at the top. He knew he'd seen these when he was much younger, but then they held no meaning for him._

_The trees had decayed and fallen, leaving tracts of clearings filled with these mounds. Some were roped off. A building stood nearby, looking out of place, and people filed in and out, carrying brightly-colored memorabilia that had little to do with the history of the people. He turned his attention back to the land._

_One mound caught his eye, and he walked towards it, carefully, respectfully, wondering if Akecheta was buried there._

_A thousand snakes erupted from the mound like lava from a volcano, and rained over him._

_Dean cried out, cursing, wind-milling his arms, wiping them from his body. He fell backwards. They covered him instantly, and he realized he was naked, with snakes writhing over him like huge worms, hundreds of bodies rubbing against his bare skin, trying to dig inside him like maggots. Eating him. _

_He screamed out again and saw the tourists watching him, viewing him as a spectacle, a historical stage show. "Help me!" he cried out, terrified, and a snake slithered into his mouth._

Dean came to and nearly bit off the fingers of someone putting a bitter herb on his tongue. He choked and jerked away, scrambling to the other side of the hut, spitting, wiping at his mouth with a dust-covered hand, cowering in the corner as his eyes adjusted. The back of his hand protected his mouth as the memory of thousands of snakes preyed on him. He blinked the hut back into focus, and saw the raven-haired woman watching him, still startled by his waking, but with one delicate hand out in an offering of peace. It was the same lady he'd first seen when he and Sam had arrived at the village. The one he'd scared when she tried to heal his scratches. And now she was back, again, helping him. He watcher her. His shoulder twinged, and he raised his hand to the injury. It was freshly bound, the wound neatly tended to.

He steadied his breathing, and used her as a focal point to ground himself. "Dean." He pointed to his chest, speaking softly, trying to swallow back the dream, and the lingering sensation of wriggling bodies covering his. "I'm - my name's Dean." He gave a gentle nod, and pointed to her, slowly.

And just as slowly, she pulled her hand back to point to herself. "Hatokwassi"

"Hak – Hatowus" Dean gave his head a shake, and grinned. She smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump.

"Ha-tok-wassi."

"Ha-tok-wassi." Dean grinned. "No way in hell I'm gonna remember that."

"Deen." She pointed to him. "Hai." She pointed to herself.

"Hai, huh? That I think I can work with." He smiled again, then let his expression fall questioningly as he slowly, god, _so_ slowly, shifted towards her. "I'm sorry about all that. I didn't mean to scare you. Again."

She spoke, her finger circling her head. At first Dean thought she was saying he was crazy, and he wasn't about to argue that, but as she circled the finger around her own head, and feigned sleep, he understood. "What, a dream? Yeah. Had a bastard of a dream." He thought for a moment, then circled a finger around his head, and gave an exaggerated frown. He schooled his face, not allowing a smile to come through, showing he was still disturbed.

She nodded, and put her hand on the blanket he'd been sleeping on, speaking again, smoothing the fabric. Her eyes questioned his. Her face was open now, no longer afraid of him.

Dean hesitated, then slowly pulled himself back to the blanket, being mindful of his shoulder, and let her guide him down. Her hair reflected the small fire in ribbons of orange. Her dark skin glowed. Her eyes were obsidian chips, and he couldn't stop staring at them. He'd seen eyes that dark only in demons, and had learned to fear them, but in her it was beautiful.

_Easy, big guy_, he warned himself. And he probably could have restrained himself if she hadn't rubbed a cool salve between her hands, then ran her hands over his bare chest.

His breath caught. He couldn't help it. Her hair tickled his face and chin as she leaned over him, looking briefly into his eyes before concentrating on her work. His cuts and scratches were still a bit sore, but under her touch the discomfort melted away. Even his shoulder stopped hurting for a moment, or at least he didn't care if it did. He hair trailed over his chest as she worked her magic over the muscled lines of his stomach, then started down his legs. Only then did he notice, and care, that he was completely naked, and that Dean Jr. was fully aware. Funny, he wasn't embarrassed by it. He wanted her to know, because with her slow strokes, it was obvious she knew exactly what she was doing. He wanted ask her why. They hadn't really talked, though he'd definitely noticed her eyeing him, and that was because he kept eyeing her.

The gentle hands rubbed over his sore legs, and ankles, and she settled herself at his feet. Carefully lifting his left foot, she massaged his toes, the ball, his arch, pressing her thumbs into the most sore spots and circling the pain away. His eyes rolled back and fluttered closed as he practically purred with pleasure. After a time she started on his right, then worked her hands back up his legs, his thighs, to his stomach, his chest, neck, and massaged his temples. He was drifting, horny as hell but too relaxed and exhausted to do anything about it except curse his Winchester luck.

She settled beside him, stretched against his body, and together they slept.

**********************

"We didn't know where he was, how to get to him." Sam drilled a hole in the earthen floor with his eyes. He felt ashamed. Warriors never left their own behind, right? Unless ravens were plucking out their eyes on the field. Did these people follow rules like that? Were there rules at all? Maybe it was all for one, and he didn't screw things up.

Alush had listened to Sam's story carefully. For a while he didn't speak. He smoked on a thin pipe, just large enough to fit comfortably into his hand. The fire crackled. A good smell came from a pot sitting on a stone beside it. It made Sam hungry. He stared at it, meditating on the orange glow that was almost swallowed by the iron. He waited for the chief to say something, anything.

"It is well you escaped," he said, finally. "Though I believe they allowed you to leave."

It would explain the relative ease of their escape, considering who they were fleeing. "They let us go? Why?"

Alush spoke thoughtfully around his pipe. "To kill you would be a bad omen. They have powerful magic and firm beliefs. You did not attack them."

"Then why take us in the first place? Why shoot Dean?"

"That was from a foolish boy. Green Eyes is white man. He was hunted."

Sam smiled at the name. Green Eyes. "How do you know this?"

"I know them." Alush placed the pipe back into his mouth. He puffed.

There was no doubt that Alush did know the Cherokee. He'd probably studied their ways and tactics. Sam wondered how different the two tribes truly were. "I know the Creek and the Cherokee have been enemies for a long time," he said, slowly. "I've heard they raid each other's villages."

"Not us. We keep from each other."

"Is Akecheta in danger? Will they let him go?"

Alush didn't speak for a while. When he did set down his pipe, it was with such care that Sam leaned forward in anticipation. "It is hard to say. Akecheta is not of us. He was born Cherokee."

Sam leaned back slowly, in surprise. "Cherokee?"

Alush exhaled slowly, gathering his words. "My father want peace amongst all our brothers. Band together to fight the white man. Join a man and a woman from our tribes. He arranged it with chief of Cherokee." Alush laced his fingers together. "He wanted blood tie. But old Cherokee chief die. Ahweh, new chief. He cast out woman and newborn child. Would not claim their blood." Alush nodded slowly. "Akecheta and I grew together. We became friends. His blood means nothing to me. But he does not even have Creek name."

"How do the Cherokee feel about him now?"

"We will see. If he comes back, we will know they care little for him. They will not risk war over one they think nothing of. The white colony is too near. They need us, and we need them. "

"I hope he comes back. I – owe him."

"As do I." Alush leaned forward, looking troubled. "I think perhaps I was - wrong - earlier. I should have ordered men across for your brother. They could have brought him back safe."

"Alush," Sam chose his words carefully, "if you and the Cherokee are so against the white men, why are we here? Why did they let us go?"

"We are not at war with the white man. This colony has offered no ill-will. Yet." He gave Sam a piercing stare.

Sam pressed his lips together. "I'm not going to presume to know what you were thinking, or what I would have done in your shoes," he said slowly. "I appreciate it now."

"I feared for Aketcha. He is good brother to me. That was when I realized my mistake, but I was angry."

"I understand." Maybe not so much, but this was a strange world, and he didn't grasp even the fringes of it. To him, they should have all charged the river to save his brother, without question. And had it been for a true Mvskoke, maybe they would have.

"Eat." The pot was removed from the stone and set before Sam. "Is hot."

"How is Dean?" Sam asked, eyeing the broth.

"He is tended to. He will be new man." Alush smiled mischievously around his pipe.

***************************

Dean stumbled out of his empty hut the next morning, and fell back against the side wall. His head swam like he'd just emptied a bar of its heaviest liquor. The ground shifted beneath his feet, and he groaned softly, bracing himself against the side of the hut with one hand until the sensation passed. His stomach rolled. But the pain was gone. A cloud moved, and the sudden glare of light blinded him. He threw an angry hand against it.

"Hey!" Sam's voice was too damn chipper. "You're up!"

Dean squinted against the glare to see his brother loping towards him. The moment of relief at seeing Sam was threatened by the sound of his voice. "Oh, Christ, dude. Lower the volume, will ya?"

"Sorry." Sam stood right in front of him, hands on hips. "You okay?" He was smiling, but concern shone in his eyes.

"Somebody spiked the damn wine." He leaned. His hand reached out, feeling for the ground. Rather than fall, Sam guided him down.

"You had wine?" Sam grinned, sitting beside him.

Dean groaned lightly. "God, feels like I drank a damn keg of something. My teeth hurt. Whatever they use for healing around here, it knocks you on your ass." He blinked, and took in his seated position, trying to remember how he got down there. "Shit."

Sam chuckled. "Seriously, how you feeling otherwise? Should you even be up?"

He wasn't sure. "I feel like you're jumping up and down on my head, asshole, so cut it out." He frowned. "Where's Akecheta?"

A flash of worry crossed the dark features. "I don't know. But Alush seems to think he'll be okay."

"Why?"

Then Sam had that look, a certain pride at revealing information. Dean marveled at his brother's ability to change gears. "Because he's part Cherokee."

Dean raised his brows. Waved his hand around. "These people aren't Cherokee. They're that – muskrat something."

"Mvskoke. Creeks. Yeah, exactly."

Oh, it was too damn early for all this. He exhaled forcefully though his nose and rubbed his forehead. "Okay, then why is he here and not there?"

"Alush's father attempted to join a Creek and Cherokee tribe to fight against the white men that were destroying the villages at that time. These tribes stayed on either side of the river, and were constantly attacked."

"You mean this village and the one we made our great escape from."

"Right."

"And how was he going to join them together?"

"Think Romeo and Juliet."

Dean thought, and his head hated him for it. "Didn't they commit suicide?"

"Either way, Akecheta ended up here, with no mention of his Cherokee blood. Alush's father took him in."

Dean frowned around the news. "It's all the same, isn't it? I mean an Indian is an Indian."

"Got two words for you. Civil War."

Point taken. "So, you think maybe the Cherokee didn't want him cause of this mixed blood, and let him go?"

"I'll tell you this. If they did just let him go, there has to be a good reason behind it."

Dean was trying to think again. "Well, if they kill him, it could start a war."

"And that might be the reason."

He knew his brother. He saw the way Sam avoided his eyes, like when he was little and lying about eating the last of the cereal while keeping the toy that was supposed to be Dean's. "You're not convinced."

"I just think there's more going on here." He spotted a young woman watching them. She offered a small smile, but didn't duck away. "Dude, who's that lady staring at you?"

"Hm? _Oh. _There she is." Dean stood and brushed off the back of his pants. "I'll be back. Try to stay in one piece, huh?"

"Wait, Dean? Where are you going? Dean?"

************************

Sam didn't see Dean for the rest of the morning. Or that afternoon. When Dean did come back, he showed signs of a distinct glow that made Sam bristle. "Where the hell were you?" He took in Dean's smile, and checked. "Guess I don't need to ask what you've been up to."

"Ah, Sammy." His brother looked blissed out. "I could almost stay here, you know? Nothing to fight, well, except maybe the people across the river but I figure if I just stay out of their reach. . ." he shrugged, "outta sight, outta mind, all that crap. . ."

"Your fever's come back, hasn't it?" Sam raised his hand to feel Dean's head, but it was batted away.

"Back off. Get your own woman."

"Get your own woman? Dean! That sounded almost. . ." he frowned, "that – sounded like more than a one night stand."

"It was a full afternoon, nosy. Different animal altogether." Dean threaded his fingers behind his head and reclined against the rough bark of a leaning tree. Looking too damn content.

Sam wasn't sure how to take this new development. Dean going off with a chick, sure, that happened all the time but this? He looked happy, which was great, but – "You do realize you've just met, right?"

Dean glanced at him. "And? Didn't take long for you to get hung up over Madison."

At least he made his point with a level of appropriate restraint in his soft voice. Madison would be a touchy subject forever, it seemed. Sam didn't know why. He liked her, he was horny as hell, he wanted to save her, he shot her, end of story. He couldn't save the monster she'd become. Or he'd become. And that thought just. . .no. He was tired of thinking about it, tired of feeling sorry for himself.

He had to admit it was a point well-taken.

"Whatever, dude," Sam sighed. A man was stumbling out of the woodlands below them, his uneven gait catching his attention. He stared, then slowly rose to his feet. "I don't believe it."

"What is it?" Dean pushed off the tree.

But Sam was already walking, not answering his brother. He heard Dean exclaim, and felt his brother's presence at his shoulder as they walked together, then ran, towards Akecheta who was staggering towards them.

Dean's arms wrapped around the man as he fell to the ground in exhaustion. Sam braced Akecheta's face and raised it to his, wincing at the bruises. They were immediately surrounded by the women working the fields, who were distracted by the minor commotion. Men were running down the hill. Alush was with them. Zertepe was close behind.

Sam and Dean stood aside as the warrior was hoisted amongst them and carried away. In the distance, Hai watched, her face alight with relief. Sam saw Dean's expression fall slightly. He took his brother's arm, and together they followed the group.

***********************

Alush stood outside the healing tent. Zertepe walked out, and gave a single nod. Alush let his shoulders relax. "He is well?"

"He is hurting. They could have done worse."

"Did he say how he escaped?"

Zertepe pulled up the cloak that had slid from his shoulder. "He says no one was outside his tent. He ran. They followed, but he kept running."

Alush shook his head slightly. "They are to be feared on foot. They would have captured again."

"Then it is plain they did not wish to capture him," was all Zertepe could offer him in response. He saw Green Eyes and Tall One hovering, and walked over to them.

They let Akecheta go? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. They let him go, and they let the two white men go. It gave him an ill-feeling. It was unlike the warrior clan to do this.

He watched as the medicine man talked to Green Eyes briefly, while giving attention to Tall One. Green Eyes looked surprised, but nodded. Then he smiled.

Again, Alush shook his head. He had seen Green Eyes and Hatokwassi together. He knew the young woman had watched the man since his arrival. Zertepe and Hatokwassi had spent many nights together discussing him and the ways of his people, and the repercussions of mating outside the tribe with a white man. But many were doing it these days, becoming half bloods and having children that were less. Everything was changing. And yet, there were so many that would not have it happen.

And, if in this miserable time, it was something that made his little sister happy, what right had he to deny her?

***************************

The following days were disturbingly normal. Sam learned to ground corn. He went hunting with the warriors. He turned the spit.

Dean did all this as well, and found plenty of time to squeeze in with Hai. It worried Sam. He felt they were losing the purpose of their being thrown back in time, if that was what happened. At night, he could feel the veil parting, hear a voice beckoning him to hurry. He would wake, thinking it was a dream, but continue to hear the voice until he was convinced his skull was about to split open. But he didn't know what to do. The only thing their hunts produced was meat for the table, usually rabbit, but sometimes it was larger game. If he hadn't known the phrase "mating like rabbits" he'd fear for their extinction.

Dean apparently was appreciating the phrase. His happiness had him healing quickly, to the point where he could turn the spit without too much trouble. He weakened from time to time, but for the most part he looked robust, tanned, healthy. And happier than Sam had seen him in a long time. But they had to leave this behind.

They had to.

Day followed day, and drifted into weeks. They fell into a predictable and comfortable rhythm. Sam picked up a few words, then sentences, and could converse comfortably with both Alush and Zertepe. Several of the younger boys had taken it upon themselves to show Sam a variation of stick ball, thinking with his height and speed, he would be an advantage. But he couldn't hit the small leather ball that sailed through the air. With his hands he tried explaining that he needed a proper bat, and was laughed at.

At night, they gathered with the rest of the people around the fire, enjoyed the drink, listened and laughed at stories they didn't understand. Sam sat near Dean, but his brother was smitten, and rarely left Hai's side. He saw Alush watching them with a mixture of pride and sadness, and wondered what he knew.

His eyes lowered at Dean's laugh. He was happy for him. He really was.

He was so damned lonely.

******************************

If he had walked out and heard bluebirds singing, well, that'd be Disney-overkill, but Dean felt just about that damn good.

Two weeks had passed. Two weeks of hard, honest, non-troublesome work (well, if one could consider hunting for food non-troublesome, and these people just didn't get the Elmer Fudd reference, so he had to stop yelling it out when he spotted their prey). Nights of companionship, and then more companionship. Nothing was cursed, nothing was trying to kill them. No running, no fraud, no choice but to be exactly who he was at every moment. To have a whole community watch out for him, and for him to watch out for them. It was – indescribable. He tried to tell Sam, but he just received a sad smile in return, one he would wave away in disgust. Because he knew.

He knew good and goddamned well they couldn't stay.

He didn't care. Dammit, he'd find a way if he had to.

He found Sam squatting near a man who was showing him how to tie – something. It just looked like a bunch of thin string to him, and he shook his head in confusion, crossing his arms, studying the threads that were wrapped dangerously tight around Sam's fingers, making the tips red. "This a new kink?"

Sam glanced up. "Hm? Oh. Hey." He frowned back at his knots as the man leaned forward and pointed to a piece around his thumb, mumbling softly.

Dean squatted beside him. "Whatcha doing?"

"Failing." Sam was studying his fingers.

Dean nodded. "Well, since you're so tied up, guess you can't go for a walk, huh?"

"Why? Hai off with her girlfriends?" Sam didn't look up.

Dean stood and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, Sammy."

"No, it's cool." With help, Sam unwrapped his fingers and handed the thread back to the man, who took it calmly. "I'm not gonna get in the way of it." He shouldered past.

"Oh, for God's sake, Sam." Dean grabbed his arm. "Look, can we talk about this? Huh? You owe me that."

"I owe you?"

"Talk about a cold shoulder? Frozen ice is like the sun compared to you." He studied his brother. "You don't look good. You been sleeping?"

"Would you care?"

"Of course I care, Sammy! What's bugging you?"

Sam jerked his arm away. "You serious?"

"Look, if this is about me hooking up with some chick, she's got a sister, I can put in a word."

Sam was livid. He jerked away from Dean. "Is that all you think about? Are you really that shallow?"

"Well, damn, Sammy, tell me how you really feel!"

"You wanna know how I feel? It isn't gonna work, and I don't want to be the one to tell you that!"

"What isn't?"

"You and Hai! You going around like you were born here! You spending your time with her when we should be figuring out what the hell's going on around here!"

"Jealous much?"

He thought Sam was going to swing at him. He really thought it, and he wanted it. "So rather than telling me this earlier, your plan is to let me fall on my face and figure it out for myself, is that it?"

"Yes!"

Dean closed in. "You are a real son of a bitch, you know that?" he muttered, glaring, and turned.

This time Sam grabbed his arm, and steered him away from the village center. He held tight, to Dean's annoyance, until they reached the edge of the treeline. He could have decked him one, spur on that fight that he wanted, that would clear his mind. But part of him really wanted to hear what Sam had to say. "Okay. Listen to me." Sam stood nose to nose with him, thought the proximity wasn't needed. "You can't do this, and you know you can't do this, so why the hell do you need me to rub your face in it?"

"Why not? Don't you want to?"

"No! No, I don't!"

Dean blinked. "Why?" he asked softly.

"Because I want you to be happy, Dean! God! Do you think everything you say to me goes in one ear and out the other? You think all that with the Djinn didn't stick? You think I don't know that you want a normal life?" He pushed his hair back and laughed. "Not that this is normal, hell, I'm still not convinced we're really here."

"What, you think we're back in some tent dreaming this?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what I think. And what's more, he's talking to me."

Dean frowned. "Whoa, whoa, hold up. Who's talking to you?"

Sam looked so tired. Why hadn't Dean noticed before? "Grampa. He's telling us to hurry."

What the. . .Dean took a step back, confused. "And just how the hell is he doing that?"

"I dream about him, I can hear him, I don't know! It doesn't matter."

Dean didn't like it. Gramps shouldn't be piercing the veil, and definitely not if it was going to make his brother look like the walking dead. "Well, what the hell does he want us to do, huh? Hurry up and wait? What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Sure as hell not fall in love!"

Dean's mouth closed, and he blinked in astonishment. He took another step back. "Sam, wait. I'm not. . ."

The bastard smiled. He thought this was funny? "Oh, you so are. I can't believe you don't know it."

He rose to the defense. "It's like you said. I don't know her!"

"Apparently you do."

Dean had nothing more to say. He raised a finger, gritted his teeth, snarled his lips, and dropped his hand. Turned away. He was breathing heavily, angrily. Because what Sam said was true. And he knew his ability to stay was fragile at best, especially if Gramps was going to stick his nose in where it wasn't wanted. That old man was getting on his last nerve.

"Dean. Talk to me."

"No." Muttered.

"Dean, please."

"Stay away from me, Sam. Just leave me alone." He felt a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and spun, knocking it away. "Don't! Just – don't." Damn those puppy eyes. Why couldn't he just look hurt for once, instead of making him feel so damn guilty? Why couldn't he have just punched Dean's lights out instead?

Sam backed away one step. Two. Looking injured. "Okay."

Dean nodded, his eyes on the ground. When he looked up, his brother was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Again, thanks to Ladystarhawk for pulling out the whip.

Don't ask.

And thanks for all the comments, and for putting this story on your alerts! MUCHLY APPRECIATED!!! - Kam

***************************

Hai smiled up at Dean when he entered the tent. "You are good?" she asked.

Good? There was absolutely no _good_ way to answer that question. "I'm fine." Dean sat beside her, watching her unfold the blankets they shared, preparing for the night. He slowly ran his fingers up and down her thin arm, and smiled inwardly at the chill bumps that rose despite the dank humidity. Sexual attraction? In spades. Hell, they could even talk a bit, and when did he ever ask that of a nightly companion? But mostly, he just felt good around her. Calm. Almost mothered. Maybe it was that Florence Nightingale crap, where the soldier falls for the nurse that heals him.

He wanted to bring her back with him. Or he wanted to stay. Ignoring everything in the world but her scent was just fine and dandy with him. Why the hell couldn't he have this one thing? This one, simple, goddamn thing?

She caught him staring, and grinned at him. Dean grinned back, the corners of his mouth quivering with emotion. He couldn't help it, her smile was infectious. "It's kinda early," he said. "You getting those ready for a reason?"

She spoke, and he was literally lost in her words. But her eyes shone, and he knew that whatever she said, it was something good, something meant for him alone, even if he didn't understand it. He smiled again, and continued to rub her arm until she leaned towards him, hesitant. His lips met hers. She kissed him for a moment, then pulled away shyly, like it was the first time they had touched.

It was endearing.

"Food?" she asked him, her head tilted inquisitively.

"Always. Yes." Dean forced aside his depression and rubbed his hands together briskly. "What's on the menu? Rabbit au poivre?

She pointed to the small hearth, silently instructing him to start the fire, then leaned over and unwrapped their small portion of deer meat.

"Special occasion, huh?" Dean was impressed. "We're eating in, and it's not rabbit. I'm so scoring tonight." He pointed outside. "Sticks." Pointed back to the fire.

She nodded, and sorted the meat.

He stepped outside, and stopped for a moment. It was insane. He was out looking for kindling to start a fire, so his Indian girlfriend could fix their food over a homemade hearth, which they'd eat in a thatched hut in a place where, hell, he still didn't know where they were. Southeast, somewhere, in a time beyond time. Who was that Walden dude Sam used to go on about? Eat your heart out. There were days when he was convinced he was asleep and having the funkiest, most wonderful dream.

He collected several thin branches from the edge of the wood, stomping them with his heel and breaking them into small pieces fit for the fire. Stopped for a moment to look up at the nearly-full moon that shone down in the darkening night. In that moment, in the pending night, with the stars twinkling down at him from overhead, with the breeze whispering around him and the feel of rough kindling in his arms, his bare feet sink ever so slightly into the cooling soil, he was alive.

He was ALIVE.

*******************

Sam sought out Akecheta. He found him sitting in his own hut, his wounds meticulously bandaged. The scent of a potent herb made Sam dizzy, and he winced as his eyes watered. "Wow. Might wanna open a window or something." He waved away the confused look. "How are you?"

"I will heal." Akecheta had the look of a man half-drugged. He propped his elbows on his cross legs, and leaned forward. "You?"

"I'm good." Sam spied the small earthen pot in the corner, and watched a thin smoke rise from it. "Thanks for asking."

"Your brother?"

"He's. . .keeping busy." Sam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He cleared his throat and pointed to a mat near the young warrior. "May I?"

Akecheta gestured for him to sit, his movement slowly that usual.

Sam wondered if he should even stay in the hut. He ttried to curl his legs up underneath him, but his sore knee still refused to cooperate. He kept them as close to his body as was comfortable. "I want to apologize. For leaving you back there."

"You did right."

Right never felt so bad to him. "No, I didn't. You saved Dean's life back there. We should've waited, or looked. . ."

"He saved mine."

"Yeah, but. . .I still feel bad. We just, we didn't know. And Dean was hurt, and we didn't. . .we thought maybe we could get some men." He blinked at Akecheta, willing him to understand.

The man just shrugged, and reached out to stir a larger pot that was propped on a hot stone beside the fire. He didn't use a hearth. His fire was in the center of the room, enclosed with stone. The hut had a small opening in the roof, and Sam knew he drew a piece of deer skin over it when it rained. Didn't do much for releasing the scent that now burned his nostrils. "You come here to me," Akecheta said. His eyes glistened in the firelight. "It make you better?"

Sam thought about it, and smiled. "No. Not really."

"Then I can not help you." Akecheta looked up, then smiled.

He was a son of a bitch, that was certain. Sam smirked and shook his head faintly.

Akecheta regarded him, then made a visible move to change the subject. "Your brother. He like Hatokwassi."

"Seems to." Sam wanted to ask the man how he felt about that. He'd seen him eyeing Dean and Hai, and each time he'd frowned. He wondered if Akecheta had set his own eyes on the woman.

An image struck him, of the Mvskoke and Dean fighting in the center of the village with everyone looking on.

"She's good for him," Akecheta said.

"I guess."

The warrior gave him a look, and Sam winced. He knew he was being pretty obvious in his worry. "You do not want them joined," he accused. "You would shame us?"

Sam started. Joined? _Joined_? What the – when did this – "What? No! No, that's not it at all! I'm glad he's happy, I. . .." He paused. "Are you?"

Akecheta grunted. "Green Eyes is white man. Owe him. Have paid debt."

"Yeah. That's an evasive answer if I ever heard one."

Akecheta return his attention to the pot, and kept it there.

It was a dismissal. And it spoke volumes of the warrior's personal feelings about the budding romance. Sam wondered if he should worry.

He walked out, thinking about Akecheta's words. Apparently if Sam himself didn't approve of the relationship, then it would be seen as a slight against the Creek people. On the other hand, Akecheta could disapprove of the match as much as he liked. For all their talk of a union, they still held themselves superior over the white man. It frustrated Sam, even more so because he knew the eventual fate of these proud people.

And _joined_? Had there really been talk about it? Or was Akecheta just shooting off at the mouth?

He sighed heavily and looked around the village. There was nothing to do. Dean was pent up with Hai, and as much as Sam wanted to talk to him, he couldn't bring himself to go to the hut. The women were milling about, talking, proceeding from one daily task to another. Men were causing a commotion down the hill in the distance, drinking from a gourd. Laughter sailed up the incline.

Laughter. Drink. Good times. God, he needed that. He thought about inviting Akecheta, but the man has exited his hut, giving Sam a look that kept him in his tracks. Then he wandered off. Alone.

Fine. No problem. Sam headed towards the loud group, ready to make friends and kill his brain.

*******************

"Sam. SAMMY!"

Sam yelled out and sat straight up, then keeled over as the room swayed. Firm hands gripped him, steadying him, and the amused laughter that followed could belong to only one person. "God dammit, Dean!" Sam snapped, shoving him away and bracing himself with one hand on the ground beside him. He was going to throw up. His stomach rolled violently, and he gave a low moan.

Dean dropped into view in front of him, squatting with his elbows propped on his knees. "Well! How you feelin' there, Sam?"

Sam winced up at him. Both of him. "Like I could shoot your ass."

"Out drinking with the boys, huh? They tell you what's in that stuff?"

Sam's hand was waving around in the air, trying to find it's way to his head. "Don't care."

"You know, there's some Amazon tribe that spits into the brew to help the fermentation along. Wonder if these people do that?"

His stomach rolled again. "God, you're sick. And lying."

"Nope. Saw it in a movie. Now you wanna tell me what in God's name possessed you to get bamboozled?"

"Bam-boozled?" Sam winced at the word. "Thought that was the same thing as getting gypped."

"In your case? It is." He stood, and Sam followed the motion warily. "Thought you were gonna drink away your troubles, huh? Well, guess again."

"God, you're annoying as shit." Sam waved his hand in the general direction of his brother as he tried to stand. Dean guided him up. "Oh, God. Think I'm. . ."

"Take it outside, dude." Dean quickly spun him in a half-circle and shoved him towards the door, which did NOT help. Sam barely made it to the entrance before spilling. He felt a hand on his back, listened to his brother telling him how disgusting he was, and spewed again. Several woman winced, then laughed behind their hands. The kids pointed and made the universal sound for disgust.

This was SO not how he wanted to start his day.

He managed to stumble back inside with Dean's help and fell onto his bedding. Groped for the blanket and pulled it over him. Relished the coolness of Dean's palm and fingers as they pressed to his warm forehead. "Sleep it off, little brother," Dean said, and there was no ridicule, just caring.

Sam was already there.

He woke once with Hai smiling down at him. She gave him water, soothed his brow. The touch was the best medicine he could have. He was beginning to understand how Dean could fall for Hai. Her smile was genuine, her eyes untroubled, and he already felt better just having her there. She was everything he needed, everything Dean needed, and he told himself that the next time he woke, Dean would have his blessing. Which wouldn't make things any easier. The thought made his stomach roll again. Was it stress? He was never stressed. Scared, or uneasy, terrified, tense, sure. Stressed?

Sleepy. Just – sleepy. And a voice spoke to him, one he remembered, one he didn't welcome. One telling him to hurry.

The next time he woke, Dean was sitting beside him. He smiled as Sam turned his head. "You're wasting the day away, man. You know, they might not even feed your lazy ass, since you haven't done crap around here to help out."

Sam squinted up at him. His mouth was dry. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and smacked a few times. "Please tell me those men I was drinking with are this bad off." His voice sounded gravelly.

"Oh, sure! They went hunting." Dean grinned impishly.

"Of course they did." Sam raised his head, then lay back with a groan. He did feel better, just tired. Achy.

"Hai went to get some kind of leaf-herb-thing to spice up the dinner tonight. Then she was gonna help in the fields, so I thought I'd make sure you still have a head."

"Sorry to put you through the trouble." Now, what the hell was that? Earlier he was ready to give Dean his blessing? But it was like instinct. A kick in the gut.

His brother just snorted. It was obvious the comment stung, but he was being all "Dean" about it. "Yeah, well, on that note, I've got things to do. I'll be back in a bit, rest up. You'll have to eat something tonight."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam waved Dean away, but not before giving him a meaningful look, hoping an apology lurked in there somewhere.. Dean just nodded and walked out of the hut.

He stayed gone for several hours. When Sam felt like he had his land legs back, he slowly ventured from the hut. Better. His stomach wasn't rolling, and his head felt back in its rightful place, but he felt tired and weak. He blew off the good-natured pats on the back from his new drinking buddies, and pressed away a gourd that was handed to him. Not again. Never again. Toxic. _Bad_. He searched the area for his brother, but didn't see him.

Darkness fell. The people gathered. The fire was lit. The spit turned. Drummers started a tune, and a few danced, more for the most part the activity was less jovial than he was used to. There were several small groups of people gathered, talking, and as Sam watched as these groups slowly grew. There was low talking, and soloist would pass from one bunch to another, relaying information.

Sam was confused, and found Zertepe. "What's going on?"

The older man looked worried. His eyes constantly scanned the horizon, the fields, the forest beyond. "Three have not been seen. The people are anxious."

"Three, you mean from the tribe? You mean they're missing?"

"They have been gone longer than is normal for their task. Some of my men have been looking, but have found nothing. The people know something is wrong."

Sam quickly looked around, as though his meager eyes could pick up what the seasoned hunters couldn't. "You think the Cherokee. . ."

"No. I do not. But three are gone."

"Which three?" Sam instantly eyed the hut where Dean had been staying. Surely if Dean was one of the missing, they would have told him before now. Right? But he hadn't seen his brother, and he'd pissed him off – what if he went off into the forest, what if – cause Sam couldn't do it again, he couldn't.

His name was barked into the air, and he turned to see Dean coming towards him, tension filling his broad shoulders.

"Sam? You feeling better?

_Oh, thank god_. It never failed to amaze him, the level of panic he still felt at the thought of losing his brother. Didn't help that he did lose him, for four agonizing months. "Yeah, I'm fine," he exhaled gratefully.

Dean looked hesitant. "As much as I hate asking you this, I was looking for Hai. You seen her? She was supposed to be in the cornfield."

"Several are missing," Zertepe said.

Dean's brow furrowed at the unexpected answer. "Several are missing – huh? What – " He flashed a look at Sam. "Wait, you mean several _people_ are missing, or several women?"

"Two women. One child. And Akecheta is. . ."

Dean grabbed his arm. "Is Hai one of those women?"

Zertepe looked Dean right in the eyes. "Yes."

In that moment, Dean was all hunter. Sam noticed, and though he reached out for him, said his name, he knew the best and only thing to do would be to call up a search party as quickly as he could, because there was no way he was going to make Dean wait, and Dean wasn't going out there alone. His brother didn't hesitate, and men broke from the groups at Zertepe's call.

Sam ran behind Dean into the forest, with a slew of men behind them.

********************************

Dean's instincts had kicked in. He ran as fast as he could, sliding on mulch and jumping over roots, whipping aside the lower limbs, following a trail close to the one he and the warriors had blazed on his first hunt. He ran for what felt like forever, the ground spinning beneath his feet, avoiding the dark shapes of trees reaching for him, but getting nowhere. So it seemed.

He caught a root with his toe, and tripped, sprawling hard on his stomach on the ground. Heard Sam, who had been close behind, curse as he jumped wildly over Dean to keep from crushing him. Found himself face to face with a skull.

It jeered at him with blanched teeth. A long, pink earthworm crawled out of the eye socket.

Dean's eyes widened. He pushed back on his hands and knees, then shuffled backwards as more men appeared behind him, some exclaiming and darting to the side, others tripping over him or running into his back. He didn't feel the pain of their knees plowing into him. He bit his lower lip, then gasped for air, blinking back tears of disbelief as Sam slowly lifted the corner of a light robe. Hai's robe.

The skull was laying on the material. It rolled to the side, pinning the squirming earthworm underneath it, and grinned up at him.

Dean's mouth worked. Everything was spinning, everything except for that damn skull grinning up at him with a boneyard smile that was so unlike Hai's. He felt set of hands grabbing at his arms, wrapping around his waist and chest. Hauling him to his feet, propelling him backwards. Men's bodies, and their shadows, blocked his view of the ground. He couldn't move; they were moving for him, holding him, getting him away. His heart was beating hard, so damn hard he thought it would burst, then it seemed to stop.

He yelled like a man tortured.

******************************

The fields in the distance were wilted. Some of the corn stalks were bent double, the corn mashed into the ground, ruined. The people were afraid to harvest what was left. That was what Hai and her two friends had been doing when it happened.

There was no fire for days. The center of the town remained dark, until Alush came out of his hut and ordered for it to be lit. Slowly the people came out, afraid. Drums hung from straps, sad and unused. They looked at Alush's ashen face, and their fears grew.

Sam was there when Alush finally called them out to the fire, looking for Dean, watching towards the hut for his brother to appear. Dean had seen no one, refused everything. Even Sam was warned away, and the one time he tried to push himself into the hut he found himself pinned on the ground with a man's knee in his back. He'd looked up into Dean's face, his own brother who was watching Sam being manhandled like he'd ordered it, and was frightened by the blankness in the stare. "No, stop. Let him up," was all he'd said, and Sam was hoisted to his feet, then pushed away. Dean had freakin' guards, for Christ sake, keeping people away. Because it was known that he was the mate of Hai, and in mourning. And that was respected.

That Sam was his brother, didn't matter.

Sam didn't understand the extent of Dean's relationship to Hai until he came across a small wreath of dried flowers that was meant to circle Hai's crown. For joining. It had been left before the hut, and vanished an hour later.

So he spent his time waiting, and mourning. Watching. At a signal from Alush, the two men that took turns watching Dean's hut and keeping his privacy, stepped forward and joined the people at the fire. But still, no movement from within the hut.

Zertepe approached the fire, his hands upturned. In a deep, mesmerizing voice he, chanted a prayer. The people answered solemnly, and Sam repeated the words to the best of his ability. He tried to keep his attention on the proceedings, but quietly walked backwards, easing out of the crowd, to someone that really needed him.

Dean was seated in the far corner of his hut. His knees were drawn in close to him, his arms propped loosely on the caps. His head was down. He looked boneless, incapable of movement without breaking, but as Sam's shadow crossed over him as he entered, then to the side, he looked up.

Sam suddenly didn't care if the whole village came down on his ass. He crossed the room in two long strides and bent over Dean, both hands on his brother's shoulders, squeezing, then massaging as he realized Dean wasn't batting him away. He settled in beside his brother, rubbing his shoulders and just being there, like he's wanted to for days.

Dean let him. His head fell against the wall as Sam eased his hand behind Dean's neck. He seemed ready to take comfort, and after watching Dean fight so many internal battled, shoving Sam away, Sam was more than ready to take full advantage of a crack in the armor. He said nothing, but rubbed Dean's neck, fingering the tension away as best he could. He was no substitute. But he'd do what he could.

"I messed up, Sammy," Dean finally whispered, his head still back. "Messed things up real good, this time."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, quietly.

"I forgot the job. Forgot why we were here. We were supposed to stop this thing, Sam." His voice was flat, and filled with disgust.

"Things happened. We got waylaid."

"We don't. Get. Waylaid!" Dean bit out.

"Dean, we don't even know what this thing is!"

"Exactly!" He turned steely eyes to stare at Sam. "That's my point! We dropped the ball before we even had it. We just shrugged and waited for something to happen. We didn't ask questions." He snatched up the shirt that lay beside him, and shoved it under Sam's nose. "We've done nothing but dress the part and play Indian! And look what happened!" He threw the clothing aside.

Sam released Dean and angled himself to face him. "Look, we had to! Okay? We couldn't just come in here like any other job. We had to play the part, that's the only way to understand them."

Dean just shook his head. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Why, Sam?" He looked heartbroken, and Sam blinked quickly. "Why couldn't Grampa-Red Hand-Whatthefuck just tell us what we need to know? I didn't want to understand it like this!"

Sam opened his mouth then shrugged and shook his head, unable to give Dean an answer, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he lay his head back against the hut, and closed his eyes as his brother stared at the floor. Wishing he had his laptop. Wishing he could call Bobby. Wishing for _help_.

*******************************

That night, Dean dreamed again. The snakes were back, filling his hut, squirming and wriggling out of the eyes of skulls, and they were everywhere, belonging to women and children, and when he opened his mouth to scream his voice sounded like Akecheta's.

******************************

He'd dug Hai's grave himself, with no help. Out in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing to put in it, just dirt. He curved the top into a small mound, and stuck a sprig of flowers in the top. It was a shallow grave. It wasn't a mound. It wasn't even near the small burial site they had. In fact, it wasn't much anything, just something to do, because he couldn't do a goddamn thing.

He knew Sam had been standing behind him for a while, watching, not saying anything. He'd walked up a good while earlier. Dean didn't acknowledge him, and it felt strange having such a large presence loom behind him. A constant prickled between his shoulder blades. But he didn't want to talk. He'd already talked.

"Dean. . ." He heard Sam come up behind him.

"Don't."

Dean was pale, staring at the small mound.

"Dean, I'm so sorry."

"I said don't, Sam."

And another two days passed without them exchanging a word.

*************************

"There is an evil among us," Zertepe was saying at that night's gathering. "We must come together as brothers, and we must pray to the All Knowing to protect us." He began to chant, and dozens of voices joined his, their prayers rising on the sparks that were jettisoned from the fire.

This had been going on for nearly a week. Sam, as usual, watched from a distance. He didn't feel like he should interfere with their proceedings, but he hovered close enough to the ceremony to hear the words. Well, what words he could make out, anyway. Desperately looking for a clue. Looking for something.

With the exception of Dean's personal memorial to Hai, he still couldn't pull Dean out from his hut. Sam's troubled eyes were steady on the flames as he thought back to hunts that had gone wrong, to times when he thought there was no hope. When all he could do was run. He realized there was still so much he didn't know, so much he still didn't understand. How many times had Bobby bailed them out? Pull a rabbit from his trucker's cap and made things better? Or Dad, with his rumbling truck and knack for popping out of dark corners? Or his dilapidated journal? Or a particular book yet another small town library, or research on his laptop, the only thing Dean would actively engage in other than going door to door —

Sam blinked, and realized what was missing. Research. He needed to do research. But there were no books, nothing to —

The old man, the one who was teaching him knots, was staring at him from the entrance to his hut. He didn't turn away when Sam met his gaze. His face, an open book.

Sam blinked, and faced him fully. The man didn't back away, but met his gaze. Of _course_! He took a step towards him, then another, until he was at the entrance to the hut, with the man looking at him. He gave a single nod, and they entered.

***************************

Dean was asleep, and he dreamed. He was surrounded by green flame, screaming, strung tight on chains and suspended in the middle of nowhere, his flesh tearing loudly from his body. Laughter taunted him, pain racked him, terror filled him, and he continued to yell one name over and over, knowing it was useless, but still consumed with complete desperation. "SAM!"

"DEAN! I'm right here, I'm here, dammit! Wake up! You're dreaming, wake up!"

Dean startled awake with a stinging cheek. Everything was dark, and hands were holding him down. He couldn't move, no, he could! He reached out, intending to push everything away, and instead found fingers wrapping around his, squeezing comfortingly. Sam. Sam was there, and he was able to make out his silhouette. Dean gasped for air, then let his head fall back as his eyes closed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Fell asleep."

"You needed to. You okay?"

He nodded, forcing the dream from his sockets. "Yeah, I'm good." Sat up slowly, noticing that Sam had let him go, but hovered. Fine with him.

"I was coming to get you and heard you screaming from outside. You scared the shit out of me!"

"Dude. I don't scream in my sleep." Dean rubbed at his face and sniffed.

"Yeah. I'll just chalk that one up to my over-active 'you're a lying bastard' imagination. You awake now?"

"Unfortunately."

"You sure?"

"Lay off it, Sam! Christ."

"Then you need to come hear this." Sam tugged at his arm.

What the – "Sam, no. Stop! Said I was awake. Didn't say I was going anywhere." He blinked up at Sam, and recognized the grim set of his brother's mouth. Knew he'd said something wrong.

"Dean, listen to me." Sam crouched down in front of him with such intensity that Dean pulled back, puzzled. "I get that you're hurting. Okay? I know. Believe me, I know." His mouth opened, then closed. His bottom lip quivered slightly before pressed tight. "I've been there, remember?" he said, softly.

Of course he had. Goddammit, of course he had. Dean exhaled and let his eyes close, suddenly feeling his emotions fleeing from him, making him weak. Of course he had. Sam knew exactly how he felt. He'd lived through the nightmare himself. How could he forget? His eyes still closed, he reached out into the air until Sam clasped his hand. He squeezed tightly, apologizing, asking forgiveness, thanking him, commiserating with him, everything in that one grasp, saying what he wouldn't allow his words to. When he opened his eyes, Sam was looking at him, unblinking. His brother gave a small smile, squeezed his hand tightly in return, and they slowly let go.

"I've been asking around. I think we might have the answer to our little problem," Sam said quietly, with a small smile. "Aren't you curious?"

Dean licked his lips. "I'm hungry," he said cautious.

Sam's huge grin made him feel better than he'd felt all week.

******************************

The old man wasn't at the prayer circle. He sat before his hut, swaying and chanting without casting an eye toward his people. There was a young boy near him, Nameesh. The boy gave a nod of greeting to Dean as he sat beside Sam. "Good. You up." The old man said nothing, just continued his chant as he swayed.

Dean blinked, and looked at Sam accusingly. "Everyone around here keeping tabs or something? You got niches going up on a post that shows now much I've been sleeping and such? Hinging bets on me?"

"Everyone's just been concerned, Dean," Sam said, trying to get comfortable.

Oh yeah? Well. Whatever. "Suppose that's a good thing." He looked at Nameesh. "And since when do you speak English? I never knew that. I've seen you around here, why didn't you say something before?"

The boy shrugged. "Nothing to say."

Dean chuckled and pointed at him. "Young, and wise to boot. You hold on to that."

Sam grinned. Probably because Dean let himself laugh. The scrutiny of his every behavior and facial quirk was gonna get on his nerves, real fast. Never mind he did the same thing after Sammy lost Jess. Watched his every move, his expressions. Without letting Sam know, of course, but then his brother wasn't an idiot.

Dean sighed and rubbed his hands slowly, trying to hide his unease. "So. Why are we here?"

"You remember Wankanda?"

Dean raised his chin to the old man in acknowledgment, and gestured with his hands still clasped together. "Wait. He was the one showing you how to cut off the circulation in your fingers, right?"

"That was my fault," Sam smiled. "He speaks some English, but Nameesh here will help. I think he knows something about what's going on."

The man rocked back and forth, making Dean eye him dubiously. It felt too much like Grampa and his damned rocking before they were sent over the rainbow. "Sammy, you sure you can't tell me about this? I mean, look at him. At this rate we might end up back in the stone age or something."

Nameesh raised his hand. "He is almost ready. I will speak for him."

Dean raised his brows, and waited. Anxiously. Wondering if he needed crash pads for this trip.

The old man's hums became louder. He began to hum, then sing, then words formed. Nameesh instantly started to translate in a low voice, one beat behind.

"The Taksvpolkv-cetto. Oh, Taksvpolkv-cetto. Oh, Revered One, look up at us with your glistening eyes, and hear our plea. Take not what belongs to us. We are weak in your grasp, and ill on your tongue. Take not what is ours, it will not please you.

Oh, Taksvpolkv-cetto. We meant no disfavor. We are young and stupid, and you are old and wise. Do not heed our words, for they are foolish. Do not hear our songs, for we can not sing.

Do not mind our children, for they are slow. Do not mind our women, for they are cruel.

Taksvpolkv-cetto, do not mind us at all for we are not worthy of your attention. Go and mind the bullfrog instead."

The words dulled into a hum, and Nameesh stopped his translation, waiting. Sam leaned in to him. "What was that?" he whispered.

"Old saying to prevent curse," Nameesh replied. "He speaks of the Takvspolka-cetto, the worm-lizard, that comes to take our people away."

"Worm-lizard," Dean muttered in alarm. His mind worked quickly, thinking back. "Tell me your name again?"

"Nameesh."

Dean pointed at the old man. "What else does he knows?"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, but Dean waved him down again as the old man began to talk in response to Nameesh's question.

"It is from the Cherokee," Nameesh translated. "They cursed us. Sent it over, their vile ways. Want us gone."

"Want you gone, how?" Dean asked sharply.

"It was sent to us. Kill the women, kill the children. All hide, no one works. We starve." The old man started swaying again.

Sam leaned forward. "But this is a myth, right? This can't happen."

"It happens. Hai. . ." Dean choked slightly and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. "We need to know everything you know," he insisted, and his eyes reopened, vivid. "Everything. You understand?"

The man stared ahead. He spoke, and Nameesh translated. "It is said that the Takvspolka-cetto lives in the ground in the wood. It takes those that abuse the land. It eats them. The women and children are not safe, for they are the future. They are taken from us. Always, it comes. When the white man comes, it comes. When we are at war, it comes. It is the curse of the Cherokee, for it comes when they are near, like the white man, like the war."

"So this story, it isn't yours," Sam clarified. "You heard it from the Cherokee?"

The man's voice rumbled. Nameesh talked over him. "Alush's father was wise, yet foolish too, like a child. Join the tribes. Marry within. Only the blood curse was spread. Now Takvspolka-cetto lives among us, taking our families. The Cherokee wished it, and so it was. They want no union. They want us dead, want our land, like the white man."

The old man's keen eyes passed over them. He held up his right hand to silence Nameesh, and spoke for himself. "You are not like their blood. You are of our blood. They can be too, only they kill too much." He sniffed. "Killing in Mvskoke way is honored. Less bloodshed."

"Yeah, but dead is still dead," Dean offered softly.

"Dead Cherokee is good Cherokee," the man said, gruffly. He waved Nameesh back, now intending to speak for himself.

"Okay, I'm not gonna judge who gets voted off this island." Dean muttered to Sam. "Your turn."

Sam blinked. "Uh – you said the Takvspolka-cetto came to your people, how?"

"I told you. By blood. By a union."

A union. Dean winced. At the word he'd never be able to hear in the same way again. Not that he and Hai were, there was some talk but it was – he paused and looked at Sam. His brother's eyes had widened.

Dean nodded. "Bet you a week's worth of sweet wine it's Akecheta."

"Akecheta?" the old man asked, with a frown. "What has he to do with it?"

Sam leaned in. "He, uh – he has Cherokee blood in him."

The man spat upon the ground. "Zertepe, too. Too much Cherokee. Half-blood. Tells us what to do with ourselves. It's wonder we are here."

Sam shook his head. "Then not Akecheta?"

Dean leaned towards him. "Too much speculation, not enough talk. Let's find Zertepe," he suggested.

"They'll be at the prayer circle," Sam said.

"Then I guess we'll have to interrupt them."

***********************

Nameesh and the old man joined Sam and Dean at the prayer circle. Sam listened, then leaned in and tapped Nameesh. "What's Zertepe saying?"

Nameesh spoke over his shoulder. "He says the curse must be lifted. It's the same thing he's been saying since this happened, only he says it different each time."

Sam's mouth quirked as a memory took him. "I had a professor like that."

"Does he say how it can be lifted?" asked Dean.

Nameesh shook his head. "No. Just that it must be done."

"Well that's a given, and for a medicine man, about as helpful as shit." He poked Sam's arm. "Powwow."

Sam stared. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Believe it. Come on."

"Where to?"

Dean turned to him, his eyes hooded. "The woods."

The _what_? Sam stopped him before he could go further. "Are you crazy?" he hissed.

Dean rounded on him. "Look, are we hunters or not?" he asked angrily, in a very low voice. "And I don't mean in their sense. We'll take torches. Just do it quietly, I don't want anyone else coming along."

He wasn't leaving Sam much choice, and what's more, he was right. They needed to get back out there. They each procured two long sticks with dried grass and fabric wrapped around one end, and lit both under the cover of the backside of a hut. "Alush has a lantern, but I doubt we could get to it," Sam said.

"Shhh." Dean peeked around the corner to make certain the people were engaged in prayer, then nudged Sam. "Let's go."

They ran down the hill along the backside, then hurried to the edge of the tree line. It was much darker under the canopy. They paused for a moment, the torches crackling just above their heads. Nearby trees danced in the orange light, making the interior of the forest seem all that much darker.

Somehow, it was more daunting than going into a demon's lair. Much more oppressive.

They carefully followed the trodden path to where the creature had been, to where Hai had been. Dean walked around the area, holding his torch towards the ground. The ground was still scored in places from Akecheta's near-capture. "The thing I don't get," Dean said quietly, kneeling, "is if Akecheta is responsible for this happening, then why did it try to kill him?"

"I don't know." Sam angled his light towards the trees. "Maybe there was another reason it wanted him."

Dean raised his chin, his eyes cutting left and right as he took in the surroundings. He lowered it again in thought. "Okay. He was supposed to unite these two tribes. Half Creek, half Cherokee. But the Cherokee decided they didn't want any part of it. This is a Cherokee curse. He's associated with the curse." His brow raised. "Think it's a piggyback?"

"You mean they purposefully sent him back with it?" Sam pursed his lips in thought, and shrugged. "It would explain why they didn't want to keep him when they captured him. Probably didn't realize who they had at first, and when they did, they were afraid the curse would fall back on them."

"And the poor devil doesn't even know what's going on." Dean sighed. This was giving him a headache. He rubbed his brow. "We need to talk to him."

"If you can find him. Good luck with that. He's not in a chatty mood lately. Especially not now. I've tried, but he ended up just wandering off."

"Still – shh – wait." Dean held out his hand. He waited, then there it was again, a low moan – and a hiss. He shot a look at Sam. "Are you hearing this?" His brother's response was lost in an expression of disbelief, and anxiety. "This way," Dean insisted, and they pressed on deep into the foliage.

The sound slowly grew around them, at first just a whisper in the trees, then solidifying. They slowed their motions. The moon broke through the thin clouds overhead, and lit upon a small clearing encircled by pines. They looked on in horror as Akecheta knelt on the ground, his upturned hands holding a bundle of small, thin snakes.

He was singing to them.


	8. Chapter 8

"Okay." Dean paced back and forth in his small hut. It was late. A few people were milling about the dying fire. No one said anything about their departure, or return, and that was fine by him. "Okay." He sighed and swiped a hand through his hair, then gestured with it helplessly. "What if we kill Akecheta? Would that do it?" He gave a sheepish shrug.

Sam blinked at him in surprise, which wasn't a shock. "Whoa, wait, Dean! We don't even know that it's in him! We shot the thing with an arrow when it tried to take him before, remember? That seems pretty tangible."

"We exorcize demons, Sam! We've hurt them in and out of their host bodies. How tangible are they, really? So, let's just – get it out of him." He waved his hand, then stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Okay, hang on. Could be be worshiping it? Praying to the snake god or whatever?"

Sam thought about it. "You think when it tried to take him, it scared him, and now he prays to it?"

"I don't know. Some people get a shock and get religion out of it. Maybe if it prays to it, it won't eat him."

"But that doesn't work, Dean. This thing's supposed to go after the women and children. It went after him."

"But we can' be sure it wanted to kill him. It just wanted him. Or wanted to make itself known to him. Sam, what if that shot you made didn't hurt it? What if there was nothing to hurt? What if if did want to make it's presence known, and did just that? And it backed off."

"But I thought this thing was always with him. That he brought the curse over."

"Yeah. No. I don't know, Sam!" Dean winced and banged his fist against his leg as he paced. He shrugged. "Just cause it was with him doesn't mean he was aware of it. I mean, no offense, but look at you. You had no idea what that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch had done to you, but he was with you, wasn't he? In some way." Dean's voice softened at the hurt, and embarrassment, in his brother's eyes. "Akecheta's influenced by this thing in the same way. We'll have to draw it out of him, or from him, or something." Dean chewed at his lip, watching as Sam relented.

"Okay," he said. "You got any ancient Native American wisdom stowed away in that brain of yours that I don't know about?"

Dean thought about it. "What about the dude with the chants? Tonka Truck or whomever. I mean he knows things, and it's a hell of a lot more than _we_ know right now."

"Yeah. Okay. But we question him here, in your hut. We don't want to make a spectacle of this, agreed?"

Dean rubbed at his forehead impatiently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just go get him."

The man was easily found, and willingly sat in the center of Dean's hut, more that ready to tell his tale. Nameesh was with him, and together they set up a small fire, burning herbs in the orange flame. The old man rocked back and forth, chanting, until he was speaking the words Sam and Dean both wanted to hear. The Taksvpolkv-cetto. Oh, Taksvpolkv-cetto

Dean leaned forward, quickly. "Who are you?"

Nameesh translated, and replied as the old man spoke. "I am the Bringer of End. I Cease All."

"Is he speaking for the creature?" Dean asked sharply.

"He is answering your question, but as the Taksvpolkv-cetto would," Nameesh replied.

"He's not possessed?"

The boy glanced at the old man warily. "He – does not house the spirit. No."

"Freakin' drama queen, putting on a show for us," Dean huffed. "We don't have time for this. I want straight answers."

"He will give them. It is our way."

Sam raised his hand to silence Dean, and Dean backed off. "Does anything make the Taksvpolkv-cetto afraid?"

Wankanda straightened, his eyes still closed. "I fear nothing. I know All. I take what is mine."

"But there has to be something you watch out for," Sam insisted. "Some danger. Something you have to overcome."

"I am All."

"Great. This is speeding us towards nowhere," Dean sighed angrily.

The old man blinked at them. "What do you wish to ask," he questioned.

"We want to know how to destroy this thing!" Dean exclaimed. "Don't you?"

Wankanda smiled slowly. It was a creepy smile, like he held a secret known only to him and the dead. "Yes." And that was all he would say.

Nameesh's face fell as he looked from Dean to Wankanda, and he suddenly seemed very, very young. "Why do you ask this? Is it true? Is it here? Did it kill those people?"

Dean just looked at the young boy. His face deepened into fear, and he slowly eased back into the corner of the hut.

Sam joined Dean at the man's side. "Okay, that's it. We need to talk to Zertepe. He should be back in his hut."

"We talk to Zertepe, we'll have to talk to Alush. Nothing's getting by him."

"Right." Sam rose. "Thank you," he said to Wankanda. "You must be tired."

"I sleep little. Old man doesn't require rest." He stood with help from Nameesh, then looked at Dean. "What you need, you will find. But not from me." And he left, the boy holding his elbow gently.

********************

Neither Zertepe nor Alush were happy to have a late-night audience. But they agreed to meet with Dean and Sam, probably out of obligation for Dean. He vaguely wondered how long he could milk Hai's death for favors.

As it turned out, Zertepe wasn't happy to bring the old man into any discussion. Once Dean mentioned the name, he immediately excused himself, ignoring Sam's protests. Alush merely lit his pipe. "Wankanda was the medicine man in the old tribe," he explained.

"So this is a bit of not-so-friendly competition?" Dean asked, slowly chewing on a piece of hard bread left over from the communal prayer meal.

"They are very different men. Wankanda resents Zertepe. Thinks he knows more." Alush shrugged. "He probably does."

Dean didn't bring up the Cherokee blood, deciding that this was a feud he didn't want to get involved in. "We really need to talk with Zertepe."

"Anything that man says will carry no weight with Zertepe," Alush said, slowly and dismissive.

Dean threw the rest of the bread into the fire, frustrated. "Look, I don't care if he screwed the man's daughter. We need him back in here." Alush looked confused at his words, but it was clear he didn't care for Dean's tone. The eyes darkened threateningly, and Dean quickly raised his hands in defense. "Yeah, okay. I apologize. Forgive me. Let me talk to him. Please."

Alush gestured toward the flap with his pipe. Dean gave a nod of thanks and ducked outside.

Dean found Zertepe just to the left of the hut, within easy earshot, wearing an expression that said he'd heard all. He was suddenly uncomfortable, and wondered vaguely how much of his and Sam's conversations had been overheard. Or his and Hai's lovemaking. Oh God, no wonder he'd get grinned at like that. He waited, letting Zertepe speak first.

When he did, it was in a voice more open and revealing than Dean was expecting. "Alush speaks the truth. I do not like the man."

Dean looked at the ground, rubbing his naked toe over a tiny rock. He'd lost the shoes given to him shortly before Hai's death, and hadn't bothered to find them again. Same for his shirt, well, he knew where it was, he just didn't bother to wear it. In retrospect, he realized a lot of it had to do with this man. He looked so free, bare-chested and bare foot, like he wasn't afraid of nature, or the elements, or injury. He was living life _with_ life, not against it. Dean realized he had been imitating the man, to such a degree that he didn't want to offend him. But there were things that had to be said.

"I think now would be a good time to set aside your differences, don't you? There's something out there that's killed innocent people. It _will_ kill again. You said when we first got here that we were here for a reason. We were _sent _here." He faced Zertepe. "You have to trust us, you understand me? And you have to trust Wankanda. Or more people are gonna die." He let his words sink in, and made sure he didn't blink, just to show how serious he was. He couldn't back down.

Zertepe stood with his arms crossed, looking over Dean's shoulder. It took Dean a moment to realize that he was looking at Hai's old hut. He thought about saying something, but Zertepe's expression was hardening, or softening, he wasn't sure. It was hard to tell with him. But it was changing. Without a word he pushed past Dean and re-entered the hut, which was all Dean wanted. He took a moment to close his eyes and steady his breathing, then followed him in.

Alush looked pleased as Zertepe sat beside him. He gestured to Sam as Dean took his own seat. "Continue."

"Right." Sam licked his lips and gave Dean a questioning look. Continue? Dean nodded. "Have you heard of a creature called the Taksvpolkv-cetto?"

Zertepe's brows drew together tightly. Dean leaned forward, watching closely as the older man sat in thought for several moments. "The worm?" he asked.

"I believe it's worm-lizard."

"Something like a snake, maybe?" Dean supplied.

Zertepe shook his head and leaned back uncomfortably. "I know nothing of this."

Dean had his doubts. He could read the man well enough to tell when he was being stubborn, but he didn't know why. Sam continued. "It is a – story – among the Cherokee. This worm-lizard attacks the women and children. The people are afraid, and they don't tend the crops. The men don't leave the village to hunt. They can't move away because if they leave, it will kill them. They end up starving."

"The women tend the crops," Alush said around his pipe.

"And it comes after the women."

"Men can tend crops," Zertepe added.

"Not if they are protecting the women. This thing stole three people from your fields, right underneath your noses. What's to keep it from coming into your huts at night?"

That got them. Both men were alarmed, and they spoke to each other quickly. Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, but said nothing.

"What do you suggest?" Alush asked. "We have not seen it. How do you stop something you cannot see?"

"We think we know where it is." This was the hard part. "We think Akecheta – controls it." He waited.

Alush's pipe fell from his fingers. Zertepe quickly picked it up. "Akecheta," he exclaimed in soft disbelief. "It is false."

"I wish it were."

"He is a friend!"

"I know." Dean could sense Sam's anxiety growing, matching his own. It was no little thing for an outsider to accuse a native of what amounted to witchcraft. Evil. Especially when the accused was a revered son of the tribe.

"How do you know this?" Alush asked.

"We've – seen it. He's half Cherokee. We think the curse was sent here with him when the Cherokee refused him and his mother. We think they abused your tribe's offer of a union, and found a way to punish you. Get rid of you." He stopped, apologetically. Zertepe had stiffened, and looked downright pissed.

Alush rested one hand on the medicine man's knee, stilling his anger. "But why now?" he asked softly. "He has been with us for so long, why would it come now?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. But I think Wankanda's seen it before. He suspected this when the women disappeared." And for a moment he felt anger, anger that they were just running their yaps and not doing anything. He swallowed it back, literally.

"I – must order him killed?" Alush asked, and it was obvious the thought hurt him.

"No! No, that's why Zertepe's here." Dean scooted forward. "You have to know a chant, something that could get this thing out of him. Rid him of the curse. If you can get it out of him, we'll take care of the rest."

But Zertepe was shaking his head. "I have never removed an evil spirit from a body. I do not know."

"Where we come from, you invoked the name of a good spirit, and call on it to get rid of the bad one," Dean offered.

Zertepe thought, then nodded slowly. "There may be one. I must confer, see if the signs are right."

"Listen. I know it's late, but you need to do it tonight," Sam insisted. "Can you do that?"

"I will try."

Sam nodded, seeming relieved. Dean noticed he was sweating.

"I must hold council," Alush said, rising, and he sighed. "They will not waken lightly. You will remain until sent for."

"Yeah! Yeah, sure." Dean's attention was no longer on Alush, but his brother. Sam looked disoriented, bracing himself against the ground with one hand while the other floated somewhere near his face. Dean rose and saw the men out.

He hurried back to his brother's side, reminded of the visions Sam used to have, and how he would look so out of it before the vision started. He braced his brother's shoulders. "Sam? Look at me. What's wrong?"

"I'm okay, it's nothing."

"Bullshit. Convince me." Dean peered into his eyes.

But Sam changed tactics on him. "How are we gonna kill this thing?"

"I don't know. Guess we could throw salt-pork at it."

"Or just burn it."

Sam was wincing again, and Dean firmed his grip. "I thought we said the damn thing probably wasn't corporeal. It's a spirit, Sam. Spirits don't just burn like that! You need the salt to purify it. Spirit-banishing 101, dude! Gotta have bones or something!" He gripped his brother. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head quickly, blindly reaching out and in obvious pain. "It's not a spirit, Dean. It's a myth. There's a difference."

"Okay. You're saying a myth grabbed Akecheta by the ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes over the ground?" Dean tried to peer into Sam's face.

"No. That was real enough. I'm saying maybe their belief in it is what's keeping it here."

Dean blinked in surprise. "How's the head there, Sammy? I ask, because it's sounding like we've gotta go tell these people there's no such thing as Santa-worm." And it was obvious that something was wrong, and he was getting pissed that Sam wasn't telling him what it was.

"We've gotta convince these people it can be destroyed." He looked disoriented, sluggish, and talking was becoming an effort.

Dean kept hold of him, and mentally retraced his steps, looking for something to use. His brows raised in surprise. "You know something?" he said quickly. "I think if we get this thing away from Akecheta, we _can_ burn it. Sam? You listening to me?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm listening."

"That snake that we saw, back on that dirt road in the reservation. It disappeared in the sunlight. Twice. And I dreamed of an erupting volcano that was spitting out all these snakes and things. But what if they were running from the lava? I think maybe flame can destroy this thing."

"Back to the traditional salt and burn, huh?" Sam tried to smile.

"Gonna be a hell of a fire." He shook his brother. "Dammit Sam! Now talk to me! What the hell's going on with you?"

"Dean?" He sounded confused, and that was SO not a good sign.

"Come on, look at me!" Two fingers flicked underneath Sam's chin and raised it. "What's going on?"

Sam winced, glancing at Dean, then putting a hand to his head. "It's Grampa," he ground out.

"What, are you kidding me? Now? Tell him to butt the hell out!"

"I can't." His hand floundered like a blind man's, reaching for reassurance. "We're – running out of time. He's scared for Summer Rain."

"We're going as fast as we can!"

But Sam wasn't listening. He grabbed Dean's arm, his eyes suddenly wide and searching. "It's – fuzzy in here. Is it smoky in here to you?"

"Huh? Oh, shit, nonono, wait, come on, Sam? Sam!" His brother was boneless in his grip, and Dean just managed to ease him to the earthen floor. "Hey! Stay with me!" And Dean could swear that, just for a moment, Sam's body faded.

"What the hell?" He reached out, frantically trying to grab every part of his brother at once as though to keep him whole, to keep him there. Was this how it happened, when they came? "Sam! Dammit, stop it!" He couldn't grab him. He couldn't hold him! Sam was fading away right before his eyes, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. "No! Sam! Tell him we're not ready!" He raised his voice to the thatched roof. "You hear me, you old bastard? We're not ready yet! Let him go! You hear me? We go back now, we're through with you! You got that?"

His brother wavered, then solidified, making it possible for Dean to grab his arms. He exhaled sharply. "That's it! There you go. That's it, right. Just stay with me, stay here, okay?" Wide eyes roamed over his brother's body. Christ! What next? Did they really just magically appear in this place? Would they just suddenly disappear without warning? "This really is a dream, isn't it? This isn't real. There is no way this is happening." But when his hand went to his shoulder, he flinched. He let his eyes roam the hut, searching for an answer inscribed in the walls, in the roof. He'd go out and pick at the stars if need be. Or go and find this thing for himself.

Sam was sound asleep, or treading the space between worlds, or whatever the hell Gramps was pulling on him. Dean cursed under his breath and gathered Sam close to his body. "Tell you what. No Marty McFly photo-fading on me huh? You're not going without me. Not until we're done." He peered down into the pinched face, like his brother was dreaming terrible things.

Suddenly, Dean was afraid. Maybe, Sam wasn't dreaming of Grampa, but something else. Something that was trying take him away.

It took away Hai. It killed others. It had Akecheta. It wasn't getting Sam.

It wasn't getting him.

He gently laid his brother back, and peeked out of his hut.

**********************************

Zertepe was gone, presumably in council. Dean yanked back the flap to the medicine man's hut and entered, hesitating before the bundles of rolled material in the corner. "Oh, this'll be a piece of cake," he muttered sarcastically, and knelt before them. He held one to his nose and inhaled, set it down, then did the same to the next. He drew back at the odd smell that invaded his nostrils, and unwrapped the bundle. Purple Anise. Nice. He rolled the herb back into the material and stuck it into the waist of his pants, and continued his search. Rosemary. Sage. Good. He put these small bundles with the others, and grabbed several torches and a lighting stick. Then he peeked back out of the flap, and darted across back behind the hut, and towards the forest.

The moon overhead lit his way. He wondered idly how long it would be before the sun rose. Busy ass night. He ran softly, the way his dad taught him, the way the hunters of the tribe taught him. He didn't let himself think too much, nothing past one phrase, 'running out of time'. This would end. For Hai's sake, and his brother's, it would end tonight.

He stopped at the small mound. The fresh-turned soil, drying in a film on top, reflected the light overhead and glowed in a single line, a long finger pointing to the dark forest just beyond. Hai, showing him the way to Akecheta. To the Taksvpolkv-cetto. He walked to a nearby tree and picked up the shovel-like tool that he'd used to dig her shallow grave. Gave the mound one final look. Drove that sight deep into his memory.

He went to where Akecheta had first been attacked. Where they'd seen him kneeling amongst the snakes. For now, the spot was empty.

Dean unloaded his stock and drove the shovel into the earth. The moonlight was more sporadic now, flashing in and out of the clouds that were rolling in from the west. He didn't bother to light a torch. He needed the flame for later. He was used to digging by moonlight, or even in the complete darkness. The question was, how big to make the hole. A pit of flame. Lure it in, and burn the bastard before it could get anyone else. He dug until his muscles stung and his back ached. The pit was about half the size of a standard grave before he allowed himself to stop, chest heaving, arms weighty and useless. He fell to his knees, exhausted, but feeling that pressing need to continue as a very faint, baby blue strip lit the horizon in tiny glimpse amongst the trees. He tried to raise the shovel, but couldn't.

A raindrop splattered onto his bare back, chilling him. It seemed too large. He tried to stand. Another drop hit – and this one sizzled.

Dean froze, and swallowed thickly. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. And up.

It stared down at him from the trees; huge, yellowed-eyed, hissing, unlike anything he'd ever seen in his life. Not a snake, not a worm, but an elongated demon, with a face on the end of a thick neck that stretched back behind it forever, to places unseen. Far to Dean's right was an arm, thin and ribbon-like, wrapping in amongst the branches of the tall pines. To his left, the other arm. The body was probably miles behind him, and the legs, even more so. It was a snake. It was human. It was demonic.

Dean stood slowly, cautiously, his eyes not leaving the creature leering down at him. "Well," he forced himself to say, "aren't you an ugly son of a bitch?"

The Taksvpolkv-cetto said nothing. The neck moved like a charmed snake, drifting slightly left, then right, and the eyes were glued to Dean's. He knew if he moved the wrong way, hell, if he breathed wrong, this thing would have him for dinner. He was pinned down without being touched. And he knew those damned purification herbs would do little for him. What was he going to do, throw the bundle at it? And the pit, God, there was no pit that could hold this thing other than hell itself.

He was trapped. He was dead meat.

And he was scared as shit.

There was a yell back in the forest, and the creature jerked it's head around with an unnatural hiss, weaving in and out of the branches, searching.

"Dean?"

No, nonono, not Sam! What if his knee was stiff and he couldn't run fast enough, and this thing was so _huge_, and they were wrong, so, _so_ wrong. "Shit!" Dean gritted his teeth and his body tensed to move, but the Taksvpolkv-cetto moved first, it's head darting down to obscure Dean's view and freeze his thoughts, a head that was the size of his car, no, that damned semi that hit his baby, Bobby's house, a hill, a mountain. It grew and shrank at the same time, filling his vision yet he could see around it, but he couldn't move. He was aware of Sam screaming his name again, obviously seeing what was happening and scared shitless, of men filling the area, and then he was falling. He landed hard on his back in a grave that was much, much wider and deeper than the one he'd been digging. More like the pit he'd envisioned, the one his stupid desperation led him to think he could dig and use.

The Taksvpolkv-cetto completely filled the space over him. "Return to hell, boy!" it hissed out in a raging gale that whipped the tree branches around like a cyclone . His two torches rose above him, lit themselves, and splintered into a thousand more, like the brooms in the Disney cartoon that came to life and created an army. He heard Sam scream out, and saw the torches streak at him like bombs. But they didn't land like bombs.

The turned into worms. And snakes. And caterpillars, and centipedes, and anything that could devour the dead. And they covered him.

Hungrily.

***************************

Sam had waken in the hut alone, with Grampa's words ringing in his ears like a bad hangover.

He instantly reached out for Dean, remembering his panic, wanting to tell him things were fine, but his brother was gone. He stumbled outside, looking around in confusion, weaving almost drunkenly to where Alush was holding council. A quick peek inside brought stern looks from Alush and the council members who noticed him, but there was no sign of Dean.

He backed out as a sense of unease filled him. He wandered up and down the center of the village, stopping just shy of peeking into huts He knew Dean wouldn't be in there. It left one option, and his panic swelled.

He spotted Zertepe leaving the council members, returning to his hut. No one followed him, so apparently he was after something, or taking a break. "Zertepe!" Sam caught up to the man quickly. "Have you seen my brother?"

Zertepe frowned at him, his eyes roaming up and down. "You were to stay in hut." He waved Sam aside in irritation, and entered.

Sam hesitated outside, fidgeting. Protocol be damned. He entered without Zertepe's bidding, which he could see angered the man, and raised his hands in respect. "Please. Please, it's important."

The medicine man wasn't happy. He frowned at Sam, then frowned back at his wares. "My torches. Gone. Several medicines. Gone." He squinting his eyes at Sam, accusingly.

In no time at all, the events added themselves up in Sam's mind, and pointed immediately to trouble. God, Dean! "What's missing?" he asked, hurriedly.

"My star flower. White root. Others."

"What do they do?"

Zertepe waved an impatient hand at him. "They cure! They make things clean. They rid of evil."

Sam was nodding quickly as Zertepe continued his list of the herb's attributes. He interrupted, his hands raised pleadingly. "Okay, stop. Listen to me. Dean's in trouble. We have to get as many men together as we can, all with torches we can find."

Zertepe pulled himself to his full height. "Why?"

"Because he's gone after the Taksvpolkv-cetto. And he can't do it alone."

"The council did not. . ."

"It's gonna kill him!" He turned away, running his hand through his hair. Just plain pissed. "You know what, fuck the council!" Sam spun and took a defiant step towards him. "He's more important to me than your rules. Your rules nearly got him killed by that river. You said we were sent here to help. Now he's gone to help. Alone. What's that say about you, huh?"

Zertepe was livid. It scared Sam for moment. He'd essentially denounced the tribe. Worst case scenario, he'd go out and hunt the thing, just him and Dean. No. Worst case scenario, they'd lock him away for disrespect, and Dean would die.

Zertepe stormed out of the hut, and back to the council. And in a matter of minutes, there was an army at Sam's disposal.

********************

He knew exactly where to go. The path was becoming more clear, well-trodden by the frequent visits to the site of the attacks. But he wasn't ready for what he would find when he got there. "Dean?" Just – Holy shit.

Dean was on the ground, with a – thing – hovering overhead. It's long body was wrapped around the trees like a thick vine. Fingers could be seen, fingers fifty feet long. The neck stretched as far back as he could see. The head was a menacing feature emerging from scaled flesh. It shot up and stared right at him, and he froze, his breath gone, his heart stopped.

Its attention snapped back to Dean, and he disappeared into the ground.

"No!" Sam yelled, and signaled to the men. They were frightened, shuffling back and forwards, wanting to attack but not wanting to be eaten. He heard Dean cry out, was it in disgust? Fear? The men behind him were useless. He raised his own torch and charged at the Taksvpolkv-cetto, flinging it over his head in an arch before letting it go. It hit the creature's side.

The Taksvpolkv-cetto bellowed. Not injured, but angry.

This woke the tribe. Someone gave a war whoop, and the battle cry was raised. Torches started flying through the air, missiles of flames, and bombarded the demon. It screamed out in rage.

Sam ran to the huge grave and slid to ground beside it, landing on his hands and knees. "Dean!" His eyes widened at the sight below him.

Dean was flat on his back, his arms and legs stretched prone as far as they would go. His face was pained, his teeth gritted and chin raised, his neck muscles bulging. Snakes of every size and color were slithering over his bare chest, while long earthworms held his legs and arms to the ground. One large, thick boa-looking reptile lay over his stomach, and bobbing with Dean's panicked breathing. It raised its head possessively.

Sam swung his legs over the side, but stopped as his brother spoke. "No!" Dean's voice was choked with fear. "You have to go back. Grampa."

Sam hovered over the edge. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"We can't kill it here. Tell him to bring you back! Make a fire pit, get it ready. . ." he cried out in pain and tried to arch his back, but was held too tightly.

"I'm not leaving you down there!" Sam started down again. A snake darted up and wrapped around his ankle.

Sam cursed and instinctively turned to grab the earth behind him, pulling away from the hole. No way should that snake be strong enough to pull him under. He could hear Dean yelling his name.

Above them, the Taksvpolkv-cetto howled and hissed, dodging the flames that where thrown at it, diving for men, tossing them aside or devouring them whole.

Everything slowed. He could see the Taksvpolkv-cetto striking at the men who attacked it. He could feel the grip tighten around his ankle like a fist. And he saw Alush running towards him, back lit by soaring torches and screams as his men were crushed within massive, finger-like coils.

Sam felt himself sliding. More snakes were on his legs, wrapping around him, inching their way up to his torso. Dean was right. They couldn't win this here. He gritted his teeth, clawing into ground angrily, desperate for purchase, hearing Dean screaming for him to get away, hearing the death cries above and around him.

He had no clue why he said what he did, at that moment. He yelled out, "Red Hand! BRING YOUR SON HOME!"

And Red Hand heard.

So did Akecheta.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam came back with a gasp, his body jerking upright. He felt like a flame that had just been extinguished as his lungs filled with cool air. He blinked rapidly, coughing, suddenly frightened. He didn't know where he was. Everything was dark, he couldn't see! Was he blind? A hand on his shoulder made him jerk again, and Toby's voice filtered through his confusion. "Easy, friend. You did well."

"I – what? Wh – ?" He squinted at his flickering surroundings, heart still trying to escape his chest. "What happened?"

"Don't worry. You passed." Toby sat back on his heels.

"I – passed? Passed what?" He was confused. He couldn't remember anything. Was he drugged?

"You successfully made it back."

"Back? From where?" Focusing on Toby's face, finally. What about – "Where's Dean?"

"Still in. He should wake up soon."

"Still in what?"

"The Shadowland."

"Shadowland?" Sam asked dumbly. He glanced around, dumbly looking for it . Above him, the stars watched. It was night? The whole day was gone?

Toby raised his canteen to Sam's lips. "He'll wake up soon. No, wait – drink easy." Sam swallowed hugely and gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What do you remember?"

Remember? He could hardly think. "Ahh." He winced against the pain in his head, and continued. "Nothing. Images maybe, like a dream." He tried again, but nothing came to him. "I can't piece it together. I just know that. . ." his head jerked to the side to find his brother, lying peacefully on his back, his hands folded on top of his chest. "Wait, he's still under? I mean, he's still there?"

"Yes."

Fear flooded him, fear that he couldn't explain. Sam quickly pushed to his knees and crawled to Dean, leaning over him, one hand reaching out. He wanted to touch him, but he didn't want to scare him awake. "We've gotta get him out," he said urgently. "Now."

"Why?"

Why? Sam stared at Toby, then darted a glance around the small tent. "Wait. We've done this before." He blinked, forcing himself to remember. "The trial. He was still there. . ." his head snapped up as he noticed Grampa looking down at him.

The old man said nothing, just watched.

Sam pushed to his feet and grabbed Grampa by his arms, ignoring the way Toby had a sudden grip on him as he faltered. "Dean's still in there. He'll die if we don't get him out!"

"Do you know what to do?" Grampa asked, calmly.

Sam nodded. "It's the Taksvpolkv-cetto." He turned and looked down at his brother, laying still as stone. "We have to dig a pit. We have to set it on fire."

Grampa regarded him, steadily, and to such an extent that Sam wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. "Then that is what we will do."

Suddenly Dean woke, with a full intake of air followed by raking coughs.

Sam immediately pulled from Toby and shoved his brother over from his back to his side, bracing him as he folded in half. "Thank God! Easy, man. Breathe."

Dean curled, choking, and managed to pull in a pained breath. He coughed again, then fought for air. "Ah – crap!"

"Are you okay?" Sam demanded. Hands suddenly tried to bat him away, and he squeezed Dean's biceps tightly, not letting go. He looked so disoriented, it frightened him. "Dean! You hear me? I said we're back! Grampa's here. And Toby." He eased his grip as Dean rolled to his back and blinked rapidly. His arms jerked spasmodically, and Sam realized he was still half-fighting, caught between there and here. Since he had movement, he was trying to brush away the reptiles and other things that had covered him in the pit.

He grabbed Dean's hands and pressed them to his chest. "Dean! Look at me! You're safe." Dean blinked rapidly, and focused on Sam's face.

"Sam," he breathed, and his eyes darted around wildly. "Did we do it?"

"We're back."

"You okay?" They settled on Sam's own, reddened and wide.

The corner of Sam's mouth pulled in a smirk. "I'm great. You?"

Dean blinked again. He was breathing heavily. Sam held him for a moment more, then released him as he took in his surroundings. His eyes fell on Toby, then Grampa.

Dean watched the old man for a moment, then slowly rose. Sam hovered, as Dean didn't seem too steady on his feet. He lost track of the number of emotions that played across his brother's face as he faced the man. Rage? Fear? Sorrow? Four steps put him in the old man's face. Sam rose behind him, sensing Dean's confusion, and not sure what his sometimes unpredictable brother would do with it.

"You," Dean bulleted, accusingly. He pointed behind him to the blanket he'd been laying on, but his eyes never left the old man's face. "You did this. How?"

"We have our ways." Grampa was standing tall against him. Sam watched as Dean's hand rose and almost reached for the old man's face. Two fingers pointed at Grampa's eyes, then back to his own as he took a step back, his hand falling to his side, his head shaking in disbelief. "No. There's no way."

"Dean?"

"Look at him, Sam!"

Sam looked. Grampa's eyes met his evenly, yet they sparked with an inner knowledge, with age and wisdom – and familiarity. "Oh my god," he breathed. "Zertepe!"

Red Hand merely raised his brows, and his pipe.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. There was no possible way, but then there was no way they could have just gone through that journey, it wasn't possible. None of this was possible. Sam spun Dean to him, ignoring his surprised curse, probing his shoulder. His brother jerked back, his fingers rising to probe puckered skin around an old wound. He looked as surprised as Sam felt. "Chick dig scars," he said in a small voice. Wide eyes met his.

Sam looked at Red Hand. "How? How did you do this?"

"We have work to do," was all the old man would say, and he left the tent. Toby followed.

They watched him go, then turned to each other. Sam drank in the sight of his brother, whole and uninjured. He could see Dean doing the same thing.

Then they both glanced down at their shorts, and instantly started looking for their clothing.

********************

They spent the next day digging the trench. People from the village came to help. The trench was wide and growing, a good ten feet across, and twenty feet deep. Red Hand was taking no chances, and ordered it much, much larger. Dean was hoping what he saw in the Shadowland was an exaggeration.

He puzzled through everything that had happened. His body ached from the constant movement, and he remembered doing this before. Twice, in fact. But that was a dream, right? They dreamed everything. But he could remember Grampa's words as he'd faded, something about what had happened to them there, would happen here. Had Grampa tended to his wound? An awful thought struck him, as he thought about Hai, and his feelings towards her. Oh, god, PLEASE, just let him have tended that wound.

He pushed himself up to brace on his shovel, and watched Sam to see if he favored his knee. He didn't, but then that injury had healed during their time - where ever. His brother's jeans were dusty. Dirt caked on his bare chest and back. Bastard didn't burn. His neck, shoulders, and upper back were darker. Dean, on the other hand, could feel his skin tightening with sunburn, and that was through his t-shirt. His face was already roasted. He'd tossed his hat hours ago, it made his head itch.

Red Hand stood in the distance, his own large hat planted firmly on his head, watching the workers with no readable expression. Dean wondered about him. He could easily be a descendant of Zertepe, if they had in fact been shown the family history of Simon Red Hand. If the curse was carried by Cherokee blood, and Zertepe was part Cherokee, then Grampa could carry the curse. But wouldn't that imply that Zertepe too was cursed? It was blood driven, right? But Akecheta was the one who – oh.

He quickly walked up to Sam. "Zertepe was the one that Alush's father chose to join the tribes. Akecheta was his son."

Sam stopped, mid shovel, and looked up at Dean. He straightened. "How do you know that?"

"Because the curse travels by blood."

"And Grampa looks so much like Zertepe he has to be a descendant. Which means the curse was brought on by Zertepe's union. . ."

"Given to Akecheta, and passed down."

"But why manifest itself now?"

Dean shrugged. "The legend lives on. For all we know, this's happened many times before. You really think the police are gonna keep accurate files on this? They wouldn't even help Gramps."

"Just as well, considering what we're really up against," Sam mused. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat. Dean wiped at his own face with his shirt, cursing at the burn, and pulled out a bandana for Sam to use. Sam thanked him, and took it. "Should we talk to him, tell him about the curse?"

"Later. When this is over. Besides, I think he's always know what this thing is, but not how it got here. If we can tell him the creature is gone for good, it might make breaking the news that he's somewhat responsible for it easier to chew." He looked again at the old man. "Must be powerful, if it's carried by blood. Their Cherokee blood would diminish in increments from generation to generation as they married outside the family."

Sam gave his head a quick tilt in acknowledgment. He pocketed the bandana, and thrust the shovel into the dirt once more.

"Oh. One more thing," Dean added before returning to his digging area. "How are we supposed to get that thing in here?"

"You're the one that said to dig a pit. You didn't figure that out?"

"Well. No."

Sam looked at Dean for a long moment. "We use bait," he said.

********************

The night was mild. The trench was ready. Men waited off in the distant hills, filling the backs of pickup trucks, or piled into their silent cars. And Summer Rain was roaming the edge of the trench, alone.

Sam and Dean watched intently, keeping concealed. Sam kept casting glances at his brother, seeing the tension in his shoulders as he watched the young woman make her slow circle. Nothing had been said about Hai since their return. He didn't know what Dean remembered. Everything, surely. Sam himself did. He remembered waking in the forest with Dean looking over him, afraid. Being pursued by the warriors and taken to the village. The pain in his knee that consumed him for the next two days. The hunt, where they first saw the Taksvpolkv-cetto, only they didn't know what it was. It tried to take Akecheta. Was that when it first manifested itself to him? Was he taken in by it after that? Sam didn't know what had ultimately happened to the man. Earlier, Dean had shrugged off the question with a shake of his head. Akecheta had survived, or had already left an offspring before his death. The fact that Simon Red Hand, Grampa, was here as a descendant was proof of that. But there was no firm answer.

Grampa had called on Eagle Eyes for protection. But this time, the spirit didn't talk through him.

The sky suddenly reddened as the sun dipped below the horizon. The haze settled over the ground. In the distance, an eagle's predatory screech bounced over the land. Sam felt caught between worlds, seeing the plains but looking for mesas, and all the while hearing the babbling of the water that flowed by the village of the Mvskoke.

Summer Rain walked softly. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders. She drew her sweater tight around her thin frame. She was scared, and it showed.

Sam inched closer to his brother. "Tell me this brilliant plan again?"

Dean gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Like you said. Hopefully it'll come for her."

"And what, it dives into the trench? What if it doesn't want her?"

"Dude. Have you looked at her?"

"Dean, I don't think it goes much for aesthetics." He eyed the multitude of vehicles that dotted the land. "There's too many people here," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"The ones that were killed, they were lured out away from the village. We've essentially moved the village out here to it. You really think it's gonna come here with all these people around? It's not stupid, Dean."

"How else are we gonna fight it? I mean, it worked back then."

"Back there, you started out _alone_. And you were going to fight it, _alone_. I realized what was going on and got everyone there, you know what?" He craned his neck around. "You _really_ want to talk about your damn self-sacrificing spree right now?"

"No. You can save your fucking lecture, okay?" Dean peeked over the small hill he and Sam were hidden behind. "I've heard it all before anyway."

"Yeah, because you don't listen so I have to keep repeating it!"

"Dammit, Sam, I thought it was after you. Okay? I wasn't sure if you were hearing it, or Grampa, or Micky Mouse in that freaky head of yours and I sure as hell wasn't taking any chances! That's why I went out there. Now, you wanna go head to head on that?" Dean glared at him.

No. Not really. He fought back his anger. "We send them back. Keep ten men only."

Dean pressed his lips together in a tight, unhappy line. "Fine," he muttered, and signaled for Toby. "My suddenly self-educated partner here seems to think we've invited too many to this party. He's scared the guest won't show," he said.

"But we need these men," Toby argued.

"Maybe not," Sam insisted. He hazzard a look at his brother. "And there's something else. I think Grampa should be out there, not Summer Rain."

"But it comes for the women," Toby said.

"No, not really. It lures the women away. But it will come to a man." Sam looked at Dean. "It came to Akecheta. It came to you. It'll come to Grampa."

Toby rejected the idea, vehemently. "He is an old man. He can't fight it,"

But Dean was nodding. "Oh, I bet he has a few tricks up his sleeve. I'd say he has a better chance that your wife does out there. Let's play it Sam's way. Got nothing to lose, right?"

"Man, I paid these people in beer. You know how much beer I had to buy to get them out here?"

"Saving the land wasn't enough for them? Besides, they've still got the beer."

"Are they drunk?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"No, they're not drunk!" Toby chided. "Beer makes the cause stick."

"Now I know why they call it 'spirirts'," Dean joked. "Get them outta here. But, hey, listen, not too far. 'Bout halfway back to the reservation. That way we can call on the cell and get them here fast. Whose number you got?"

"Everyone's," Toby muttered, then muttered something else in his naive tongue, something that needed no interpretation, and eased back to make his calls. It wasn't long before the rumble of pickups were heard, headlights cut through the pending darkness, and the vehicles pulled away to meet back on the dirt road half a mile behind them. In a serpentine caravan, they eased their way in the direction of the reservation.

Dean exhaled sharply and turned to his brother. Sam glanced at him, then double checked. "What?"

"You better be right about this," Dean said.

"Hopefully we'll find out soon enough."

Grampa walked up to them. "She was happy to leave," he said of Summer Rain. "I didn't like her out there to begin with."

"You ready for this?" Dean asked.

Stars appeared overhead, matching the glint in Simon Red Hand's eyes, reminding him of the medicine man he'd known so long ago, and yet only a day earlier. It was all the answer he needed.

"You've done well, both of you," he said in reply, and walked out to the huge trench. And to the brother's surprise, he started a familiar chant. Only, the word sounded different.

_Oh, Taksvpolkv-rakko. Oh, Revered One, look up at us with your glistening eyes, and hear our plea. Take not what belongs to us. We are weak in your grasp, and ill on your tongue. Take not what is ours, it will not please you._

_Oh, Taksvpolkv-rakko. We meant no disfavor. We are young and stupid, and you are old and wise. Do not heed our words, for they are foolish. Do not hear our songs, for we can not sing._

_Do not mind our children, for they are slow. Do not mind our women, for they are cruel._

_Taksvpolkv-rakko, do not mind us at all for we are not worthy of your attention. Go and mind the bullfrog instead._

After the third recitation, the ground shook beneath their continued the chant.

Toby joined them. "What is he thinking? He's calling on the Rakko!"

"That name's not what I remember hearing before. It was cetto before. What's the difference?" Sam asked quickly.

"I don't know! The Rakko is a myth! It is told to small children to keep them home!"

"Doesn't work too well, does it?" Dean asked.

Sam was thinking, hard. "The Taksvpolkv-cetto, that's what they were saying. It must've evolved into the myth that you know as the Rakko. Wonder why the name changed?"

Toby shook his head slowly, watching the man as he spread his arms wide. "If it is the Rakko, then a pit of flame is fitting. They say it comes from the mouth of hell."

"Yeah, well, things still burn in hell, so it should hurt like a son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, and gave Sam an annoyed glance. "Will you take your scholarly ass out of the clouds, please?"

"I'm just, the word, – yeah. Sorry." And the ground shook again, this time knocking everyone off their feet.

Dean pulled Sam upright. "This didn't happen the last time."

"I know. I don't like it."

In the distance they could see Grampa. His feet were braced apart. He flung his hands into the air and cried out, "Taksvpolkv-rakko!"

And the trench below him exploded.

Anyone within range was thrown through the air. The noise was deafening, the air suddenly molten hot, and the creature that shot out of the remains was unlike anything that had been seen by man. It shot towards the heavens, blotting out the starlight, casting the area into pitch darkness lit only by the red gates of hell.

Sam felt Dean crawl away from him, and instinctively reach out, not wanting to be separated. He saw nothing but scales and an ever-widening body. It shrieked with the voice of a thousand lost souls, and started downwards, mouth agape, eyes glinting with sickly flames. The wind roared around its head as it plunged.

Sam yelled out and grabbed Dean with both arms, pulled him close, then rolled as hard and fast as he could as the creature dove back into the ground where they had been. The land cracked and split open from the impact, tearing beneath their bodies. Together, they hauled each other to their feet and ran away from the splintered earth.

"The _hell_?" was all Dean could gasp, his fists on Sam's shirt in a death-grip.

"I don't know!" was all Sam could gasp in response, looking for survivors as he clung to Dean. "You see anyone?"

"No!" Dean was clinging to Sam, his frightened eyes roaming over the area. "Sam, I don't think a pit of fire is going to get rid of this thing. You know, since it just came out of one!" The ground rumbled again beneath their feet. They backed away frantically, but had nowhere to go. "Now would be a good time for a plan B!" he shouted.

"Did we have a plan B?" Sam shouted back.

"Not so much!"

The ground lurched beneath them, then the vibrations faded. And everything stilled.

Sam swallowed hard, and panted. He released his grip, feeling Dean do the same, and glanced back at Toby's truck. Looked around the area. "The tent's gone."

"Not surprising." Dean was pacing as he rubbed and pinching at his forehead.

"Toby!" Sam yelled out. He didn't want to venture too close to the trench, but worry for his friends was about to force his hand. "Grampa!"

Dean raised his head and looked around, then he glanced back at the truck. "Stay here," he said, and gave Sam a quick pat on the back.

"Toby!" Sam called out again, and this time he saw a man staggering towards him, his dark figure wavering in the heat. Sam rushed to Toby and threw an arm around him, then escorted him back to the truck.

The man's face was burned. Sam quickly wet a cloth with water from his canteen and applied it to the worst of the burn, jerking in apology as the man cursed, then pressed his own hand against Sam's. "Grampa," Toby tried to ask with a scorched throat.

"I don't know," Sam replied hastily, watching Dean. Now he was pacing on the other side of the truck, deep in thought, and as much as Sam wanted to ask what was going on, he didn't dare.

"Flame won't kill it," he was muttering. "Flame won't kill it." He shook his head. "Dammit!"

"Where's Grampa?" Toby asked again as Sam tried to keep him against the side of the truck.

"Just stay there, we'll find him. I promise." He braced his friend as he grunted in pain, his head falling back, his face tight.

Dean's fist was planted against his forehead. He thumped it against his head in a rhythmic way, like he could pound the answer into his skull. He stopped, the hand coming away open-palmed, and he looked up with clear eyes. Sam noticed for the first time that his face was reddened, not from the sun, but from the heat of the flame. And his own face burned. Apparently they didn't escape the blast as much as Sam had hoped. He dampened another bandana and raise it to Dean's face, only to be batted away. "Toby. What happened to your father? And put that on your own face, Sam, you're burned."

"He died when I was young," Toby said.

"Is Grampa your father's father?"

Toby pulled his cloth from his head, looking at Dean in puzzlement, and a little annoyance. "Yeah."

Dean nodded, turning away. "Damn. I wish I knew. I wish I knew!"

"Knew what?" Sam patted Toby on the shoulder, then walked over to join his brother. He hadn't put the cloth on his head. Instead, he pressed it lightly to Dean's.

"What if this thing skips a generation?" Dean asked, taking the cloth without thought. "Zertepe didn't seem affected by it but his son, Akecheta, was. I don't know how many generations have passed 'cause I don't know when that time was."

"Could have been any time in the 1800's," Sam said quickly. "Possibly earlier."

"So Zertepe would have been what, the great-great – crap. There's no way to figure this out! We don't know how long they lived, when they had kids, and if we're just one generation off, that's it. We can't be precise."

"Does it matter? It's here now." The ground rocked beneath their feet again. Sam turned back to the pit to see what was happening, and saw another figure walking to them. "Oh my god. Dean! It's Grampa!"

Grampa was staggering towards them, his hands out like a blind man's. His face was charred. They ran to him, caught him right before he could collapse to the ground, and eased him down. Toby arrived with the remainder of their bandanas and water, and the three of them tried to ease the man's pain. Toby fished in his pocket for a bottle of aspirin, which would do little good but was available. "Grampa! Swallow. What happened? I thought you were dead."

The old man clutched at their hands, crying and moaning in pain. He gasped out his words in a rough voice. "I saw it. I never thought it was – I saw it."

"We all saw it, Grampa," Toby said, pulling the man to him. Grampa croaked out in pain, his hands frozen in the air before sightless eyes.

"My eyes. . ."

"You were burned pretty bad, old man," Dean soothed, "but you're okay. You'll be okay."

Sam hated to do this. He leaned over. "Grampa. Listen to me. That thing, it haunts your family. We think it skips a generation. Can you think back? Can you list your family?"

"Sam!" Toby exclaimed.

"I know, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. We have to know what's keeping it here, who's keeping it here. Now please," he implored the man, "can you think back?"

Grampa looked like he was ready to cry. "We come from Muskogee," he said weakly, his words hoarse. "Alabama, Georgia."

"How far back?"

Grampa made a choking noise. "Very far," he said, and his face screwed up as he tried to cope with his pain and fear.

Dean looked up. "Call the trucks," he said quickly. "Get him to a burn unit."

Toby nodded tearfully, gasping as the hot tears hit his burned cheeks. He reached for his cell phone.

The howl in the air drove everyone flat to the ground, covering their ears. The earth trembled, and the Taksvpolkv-rakko rose out of the trench, and towered over them. The evil eyes glared down at them, and settled on Toby.

Sam noticed. He started to shake as he looked at his friend, as the creature hovered, staring down at him.

Toby stared back, in shock. "No," he said. "Go away! I don't believe in you!"

The Taksvpolkv-rakko rose. Then it's eyes fell on Dean.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, both with hands clasped over their ears, both wincing in pain. The creature dove back to the ground with a thunderous crash. Heat spread over the ground, once more cracking it beneath them.

And one huge finger snaked out of the pit, and wrapped around Dean's ankle. In an instant, he was snapped back towards the pit.

"Dean! No!" Sam bellowed. He pushed to his feet and ran as fast as he could, leaving Toby and Grampa. He dove for his brother right before he went over the edge of the trench, or what was left of it. Their fingers interlocked, and Dean stopped, dangling over the pit.

"Sam!" Dean had never sounded so desperate. His legs kicked over the molten void, his hands held Sam's own in a death grip. "Sam, get me up!"

"I'm trying!"

"Get me up!"

"No, don't look down!" But Dean had, and the expression returned to meet his, Sam never wanted to see on his brother's face again. "Goddammit! Hold on! Just. . ." his words choked him.

It was Sam's nightmares come to life. Ever since his brother's death, he'd had dreams of him trapped in flames, burning for eternity, his flesh peeling off, then peeling back again as Dean's screams racked his bones. Now he was looking at his brother dangling over what looked like the jaws of hell, and fluttering deep within the heat was the figure of the Taksvpolkv-rakko, the long neck and head, the body that stretched forever, the long arms that braced against the sides of the cavernous trench that yawned beneath them to the center of the earth. Only one finger was wrapped around Dean's ankle, and it slowly climbed up his leg, coiling around his stomach and chest. It could so easily just suck him in, and they knew it.

And Dean looked terrified.

Sam was sobbing. His grip was slipping. Dean was pleading with him with his eyes, and his fucking grip was slipping? No. He wasn't losing his brother again. "Dean. I'm gonna let go, it's just for a moment. Grab the edge." He let go, and Dean scrabbled for a grip in the soil. It was just enough for Sam to reach down and seize his wrist. He did the same for the other hand, and lunged back with everything he had.

The finger coiled up over Dean's shoulder, and around his neck.

"_NO!" _Sam nearly released one of Dean's hands to pry it away, but he couldn't. And as he pulled, Dean strangled.

Sam frantically looked over his shoulder. He could just make out figures coming to him, one helping the other along. "Grampa! Do something!" he screamed out. He wanted to yell for them to stay back, that they were meant to work some major mojo, not get themselves killed. But if Toby could grab Dean, Sam could free his neck. "Toby! I need you!"

Dean made a sound, and Sam looked at him. "Toby," his brother forced out.

Sam just shook his head, and yelled as Dean suddenly slipped further. He grappled for a hand hold, and knew it wouldn't last. The Taksvpolkv-rakko leered up at them. Playing. It had a sour grin, and it watched from below.

Toby joined them and quickly grabbed Dean's right hand. Sam gratefully relinquished it, and tried to pry the odd finger from around Dean's neck, one-handed.

The Taksvpolkv-rakko bellowed, and Dean slipped again, making Sam's heart stop. Then it quieted. Slanted yellowed eyes looked at Toby.

"It's him," Dean choked out.

Toby just shook his head, looking from one to the other. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But Grampa knew, and he cried out in despair. "Oh, Taksvpolkv-rakko," he sobbed from his spot on the ground, and his unseeing eyes opened. Word followed jerkily, sadly, and he climbed to his feet, bracing himself on his knees.

_Oh, Revered One, look up at us with your glistening eyes, and hear our plea. Take not what belongs to us. We are weak in your grasp, and ill on your tongue. Take not what is ours, it will not please you._

Dean's head was leaning back from the pull of the creature. His eyes were glued to Sam's, his hands white with the effort of hanging on. "It's Toby," he forced out again, barely heard, his eyes closing, his grip becoming lax.

And Grampa, Simon Red Hand, rose with a deep bellow and lunged at Toby. Sam screamed out as they both tumbled over the side, and into hell.

The Taksvpolkv-rakkoroared. It released Dean.

Sam quickly urged his brother up, and Dean complied, digging the toes of his shoes into the soil and climbing out. Sam grabbed his shirt, then his belt, and hoisted him to land. They lay there together, panting.

A rush of heat soared up out of the chasm, and the Taksvpolkv-rakko exploded into the air, it's head craning in agony, it's cries deafening. The long hands clawed at the sky and seemed to grab the stars. Sam covered Dean with his body, scared it would come for him, and felt his brother trying to protect him in the same way. They huddled together as the creature fell back into the pit. They braced each other as the ground trembled, and the trench folded. It closed in on itself.

The air stilled, and cooled around them. Pure silence assailed their ears.

The brothers lay together, in shock.

***************************

The funerals were attended by the entire reservation, even those the bodies weren't recovered. There was hushed talk of what had happened. Most of the men were there, and had seen the orange sky and felt the rumbles. Some were primed to go to their aid, but were held back. Those that wanted to help, blamed those that kept them from it.

Summer Rain and her children were quiet. The youngest of them didn't understand, but they knew that something bad had happened. The next several days in Summer Rain's life would be spent answering questions that she really had no answer to. How could she answer them when she herself didn't understand?

"It was a family curse," Sam said to her the night they put Toby and Simon Red Hand into the ground. The children were in bed. His fingers played around a mug of coffee. Dean hadn't touched his. He sat with his head propped on his hand, looking out of the kitchen window. One hand was bandaged for minor burns. His face was red, as was Sam's. "It's been with the family for generations. Some members of the family act as a catalyst for it."

It was the first time they'd talked about what happened. Summer Rain was a very strong woman, but she wasn't ready for the details. In fact, that first full day she couldn't even look at the brothers. Dean had wanted to leave, to get out of her hair, but had Sam insisted they stay put.

"We thought maybe it skips generations, but that was hard to prove," Dean muttered, eyeing his mug but not touching it.

"And you think Grampa? Toby? They. . ." she shook her head.

"Take not what is ours, for it will not please you," Dean said, and looked as though he might actually take a sip of his coffee. He needed to. He hadn't eaten or anything since the event, three days prior. Of course Sam's appetite was gone as well.

"They sacrificed themselves," Sam explained. "They ended it. The Taksvpolkv-cetto couldn't take anything. They offered themselves to it. And two generations together, killed with the Taksvpolkv-cetto – or Rakko, as you might know it, would break any blood hold it had. It can't move on to the next generation. It's over."

Summer Rain managed a weak smile. "What did I marry into?" she asked, and her voice was like water.

"A community that looks out for its own," Dean said straightening. "I know it's late. Actually it's damned early, but I can't think of sleeping. I'm going for a walk."

"Coffee probably doesn't help," Summer Rain said quietly. "But I don't want to sleep."

"I know." Dean walked behind her and squeezed her shoulder. Sam noticed her eyes closed tight, her mouth a thin line, forcing the sob back. She leaned her cheek on his hand for a moment, then lifted it so he could leave.

Sam continued to toy with his mug, thumbing the rim. He gestured helplessly and gave a small, pathetic laugh. "I don't know what to say to you," he admitted.

"Let's just drink our coffee," she suggested.

In the distance, the sky lightened.

*****************************

Dean was huffing, sweat tracking down his face. His legs folded and he fell to the dirt road, breathing heavily after his run. This was where he'd seen the snake. The time of morning was right. The sun was just about to break the horizon. He waited and looked. "Come on,"he muttered. "Come on, come on." He stood and turned, his hands on his hips. "Come on, you fucking bastard!" he yelled out. "Show yourself! Fucking coward!"

The sun broke free of the horizon and lit the skies. The lingering clouds were tipped in flame.

*****************************

"I said I'll be fine. Now go." Summer Rain gave Sam a playful shove on his arm.

Nearly a week had passed. Food baskets covered the counter tops. Neighbors had constantly swarmed the kitchen, telling Summer Rain to sit while they brewed her a cup of coffee, or tea, or fixed her a sandwich. The kids were bounced from house to house so she could rest. Questions were answered by the older, wiser men. She was getting along, with plenty of help. There was nothing more Sam or Dean could do for her.

Sam gave her a hug, and stepped back so Dean could do the same. "We'll call you," he said. "You let us know if you need anything, okay?"

"I'm fine, I promise. But thank you." She smiled, and looked down as a young boy flitted past her skirt and walked up to Dean.

"Killed it. Knew I would." He smiled and held out his small, chubby hands.

It was the red snake.

Dean swallowed hard, and knelt down, ruffling the boy's hair while eyeing the dead reptile. "Did you kill it, or did you find it dead?"

"Would have killed it if it wasn't dead."

Dean smirked. "That's my warrior," he said.

"I can't wait to show Grampa!"

He still didn't understand. Thank god Dean didn't have to explain it. "Yeah." Dean stood slowly. Sam watched him, blinking rapidly. "He'd be real proud of you."

The boy beamed and ran off to show his prize to his siblings. Summer Rain received one more hug.

The Impala was hot and stuffy inside. Sam climbed in and slammed his door closed, then lay his head back and sighed wearily. His eyes drifted shut. He heard Dean climb in beside him, heard the creak as the door swung closed, heard the familiar rumble as the car started. But it didn't move. He cracked open an eye, and saw his brother looking at him.

Sam raised his head. "Dean? What is it?"

"So, him sending us there. . .it seemed like he knew what that thing was."

"I think he had an idea."

"And that first time we went to – where was it?"

"The Shadowland."

"Why did he send us?"

"He wanted to see if we could get there and back." Sam snorted. "I'll tell you, Dean. I really didn't want to go back there."

"How did you remember even going? Or anything about it?" Dean let his head fall against the seat, still looking at Sam. "Wait, you didn't remember anything. You sensed it, didn't you? What would happen."

"Sorta."

"Huh. Like I've said before. Way to warn a guy."

"Wait. You don't think – I didn't. . ." Sam lowered his eyes, and swallowed hard. "I didn't know the details." He didn't want to look at Dean. His gaze turned to the window.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean licked his lips. He had that small smile on his face, the one he wore when he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I'm just – I'm sorry. About what happened to Toby. I know he was your friend and all. And Grampa, I mean. . .damn."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

Dean nodded. "So, uh. I know this is shitty timing but – you never told me what he did for you. You know, while I was away." It took a moment, but Dean swung his head around to meet Sam's gaze. "Just thought you might wanna talk about it."

"You mean you want to satisfy your curiosity?" Sam blinked at him, not fooled.

"There's that," Dean relented.

Sam smiled. "He, uh, he was learning to do the spirit walk thing. But with him it was more hypnosis-like. He. . ." Sam shifted uncomfortably, and gave a small, embarrassed laugh, "he, uh, he took me back. To when you were alive and getting on my last nerve."

His brows raised slightly in surprise. "Really? That's how you wanted to remember me?"

Sam shrugged. "I was pissed, Dean. And I hurt – so much." He returned his attention to the window, unable to look at him. "It was easier that way. After a while I remembered things like us riding together and the chicks you'd hook up with. And, maybe, the way you'd take care of me." Now he definitely wasn't going to look at Dean.

The silence pulled at him. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, then turned. Dean was staring at him, and his eyes were soft. "Yeah," was all he would say, with that little smile that was more Dean than anything Sam could ever remember. And he slowly put the car in gear, and backed out of the reservation.

Sam cleared his throat as the car sped up. "Yeah, well, anyway. Looks like Summer Rain will be taken care of."

"Sure does. That's a good place."

"Yeah." Sam pursed his lips. He wanted to ask so bad. Wanted to know if Dean remembered Hai. What he was thinking about her.

"She's got someone staying with her, right?"

"Well, her neighbor. And I think she said something about Toby's brother coming up. He couldn't get away for the funeral, something about his business. Or something."

"You weren't listening, were you?"

"Not really."

Dean nodded. "Well, good. More family around. That's good."

The Impala darted off in a black streak towards the horizon. Sam blinked into the glare. He saw Dean reach over and pull his sunglasses from the glove compartment. They drove on in contented silence, until one word had them looking at each other warily.

_Toby's brother?_

-the end

**********************************

Thank you SO MUCH for taking time out of your schedules to read this. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me. *grins* Please feel free to leave me a review!! Again, thank you!

-Kam : )


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